


Swan Song (Part 2)

by earlgreytea68



Series: Swan Song [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: In which Matt and Patrick still won't stop making out long enough for a tour to happen.





	Swan Song (Part 2)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I had this plan, when I started writing Swan Song. 
> 
> Well, no, I didn't. I never have a plan. 
> 
> But it was a vague plan-ish sort of thing, and it went like this: The story would be about a band going out on a reunion tour and be, Idk, 70,000 words? 
> 
> My Swan Song document is now 105,000 words long, and the band *is just starting its reunion tour now.* 
> 
> When I posted the first part of Swan Song, my intention was Part One would be pre-tour and Part Two would be tour. Part Two is now very long and it has nothing to do with the tour. So Part One is now pre-agreeing-to-the-tour, Part Two is now pre-tour, and Part Three will be tour. 
> 
> Such is my plan. Such as it is. 
> 
> I'm not a musician. Describing music is hard. And much harder when you're not a musician. I apologize for that. 
> 
> There's a playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/earlgreytea68/playlist/1AppHTVewlOWsecMnrUfvJ?si=mcaRki8VR7G4Waa4UwMu9w
> 
> Trick Up Your Sleeve sounds like a cross between American Dream and Ace in the Hole. 
> 
> Luck has a touch of Green Light mixed with Blue Heaven Midnight Crush. 
> 
> Fall to You is kind of Taxi jumbled up with Wolf. 
> 
> Kiss Me Last is hmmm like A Real Thunderbolt tempered by Silhouettes. 
> 
> Idk, this is the way it works in my head.

Matt was yawning as he stacked dishes on Patrick’s kitchen counter, and Patrick, loading them into the dishwasher, gave him an amused look.

 

“You don’t have to help clean up,” said Patrick.

 

“Of course I do,” said Matt, smothering another yawn. “I caused…all sorts of commotion.”

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick, and looked at Matt. The kids were mostly in bed. Well, Kylie was still up, dealing with the boy issues that Patrick really needed to look into, but everyone else was asleep, and Rachel was gone, and contracts were sitting on the dining room table, waiting for Patrick’s final verdict. “Are you going to fall asleep on your feet, or do you think we can have a conversation about the tour?”

 

“We can have a conversation about the tour,” Matt said, looking very valiantly awake. He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms as Patrick put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. “I meant to tell you.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick, because he did. This was life with Matt: Matt almost always had good intentions, he was just sometimes a mess when it came to execution.

 

“I didn’t think she was going to show up here with contracts.”

 

“It’s fine. I’m not upset.” Patrick cocked his head at Matt as he straightened. He looked like he was physically drooping, his dark eyes dull with fatigue. “You’re exhausted.”

 

Matt shook his head. “I’m fine.”

 

Patrick pressed against him, nosing behind his ear to breathe there, and marveled at being able to _do_ that. It still felt astonishing to him, to have Matt _there_. “You performed hard tonight.” Patrick had noticed it happening, of course, but Matt had been powerfully charming and his kids had responded to it and Patrick hadn’t wanted to throw Matt out of the comfort zone of Rock Star that Patrick knew he was in. But he also knew it was why Matt was exhausted now. He’d run through a lot of energy and Patrick’s girls were hardly the supportive source of uplifting power that a concert audience was.

 

“Well,” Matt allowed, “it was a special VIP performance.”

 

Matt couldn’t go through every day like this, thought Patrick, it wasn’t long-term sustainable, but Patrick was going to let him have this one. He did say, “They like you. You don’t have to work so hard.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt, perfunctory.

 

Patrick lifted his head from letting it rest in the curve of Matt’s neck, so he could look at him. “ _I_ like you.”

 

“Oh, do you?” said Matt. The banter was tired but it was there.

 

“Yeah, kind of,” said Patrick, just because it made Matt laugh, and it was good to hear him laugh. “And I know you might not realize this, but that means a lot to my kids. It goes a long way with them. So I’m just saying, if you’re going to perform hard for someone, it should be me.”

 

Patrick was teasing, but Matt reached out and straightened Patrick’s collar, watching closely his fingers fiddle with it, and said slowly, “But you’re the only person I don’t perform for.”

 

Which made Patrick inhale sharply. “And that’s what works for me.”

 

Matt looked at him and smiled, sweet and straightforward, devoid of any ensnaring curl, and that, Patrick thought, _that_ was Matt’s most lethal smile. That smile took Patrick’s breath away and there was part of him that hoped Matt didn’t notice, how effectively he could deploy that particular smile of his. But there was a lack of guile to it that Patrick had only ever seen Matt direct at him, a complete lack of acting that Matt out in public never, ever approached. Patrick knew that the reason this smile was so lethal to him was precisely because he knew he was the only person who ever got to see it. “Good,” said Matt, relief evident in his voice. “Because that’s what works for me, too.”

 

Patrick kissed his forehead, feeling impossibly fond and protective. Tired Matt did that to him. Tired Matt smiling at him like that did that to him. Tired Matt smiling at him like that and being fucking _vulnerable_ – Patrick didn’t stand a chance. “I’m going to look at this tour proposal. You can go to bed.”

 

“Go to bed?” echoed Matt. “I’m not going to bed without you. That’s a thing I can do any night. I want to talk about the tour with you.”

 

“Okay,” Patrick relented. “Fine.”

 

They retreated to the couch, where Patrick sat on one end with paperwork in his lap and Matt curled up on the other end and settled his feet in Patrick’s lap with a casual possessiveness, disturbing the paperwork.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, picking up the paperwork to save it from being crumpled by Matt’s feet.

 

Matt yawned, shrugging. “You’re so good and responsible, reading over the paperwork.”

 

“You just agreed to the tour without asking about any of the specifics?”

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Matt negligibly.

 

“You didn’t even ask about the tour bus situation? You’re so fucking particular about the tour bus situation.”

 

“Patrick. I was always fucking particular about the tour bus situation because I had to make sure I had access to optimum seduction time. And if anything’s not to my liking, I’ll just demand it be changed,” said Matt, managing to sound reasonable about it.

 

Patrick shook his head a bit, flipping through the papers. “It’s good to be the rock star.”

 

“You could throw the temper tantrum, too,” Matt remarked.

 

“I could never do it with a straight face,” Patrick replied. “I’m going to leave it to you.”

 

“Obviously we’ll share a tour bus, as usual,” said Matt, as if it really _was_ obvious.

 

“I’ll have all of my kids with me,” said Patrick.

 

“Right,” agreed Matt. “I will take up the tiniest amount of space in just a corner of your bed.”

 

“I have never seen you fail to take up the entirety of any space you were placed in,” remarked Patrick, “but sure, we can give that a try.”

 

“It’s totally going to work out,” Matt said confidently.

 

Patrick looked over at him, and thought he was probably faking that confidence. So he said, “Yes. I’m sure it will. We end in L.A.” Patrick held up the schedule.

 

“The tour?”

 

“Yes. Three nights in L.A. Is there really enough demand for us to play three nights in L.A.?”

 

“I don’t know. I left that to others to determine. We can stay in my place in L.A. It’ll be a nice way to end the trip, with off-bus time. The kids’ll be delighted, probably.”

 

 _Ashley lives in L.A._ , thought Patrick but didn’t say. He’d have to tackle whether or not to contact Ashley another day. Instead he looked through the rest of the schedule. It was a six-week tour, which fit snugly into the kids’ summer vacation, and it started on the East Coast and wended its way across the nation. It wasn’t a punishing schedule, but it was demanding, and Patrick wasn’t young anymore. But the kids would love it. He could tell the kids would love it. And the sums of money scattered through the document were…astonishing.

 

Patrick blew out a breath and thought, _Yes. You’re doing this, aren’t you?_ and put the papers aside to share that thought with Matt.

 

Except that Matt was sound asleep.

 

He should have known. Matt was never quiet for so long.

 

Patrick watched him for a second, the relaxed and open look of him in sleep. He seemed so exposed to Patrick, and Patrick could feel his impulse to enfold him, and he knew it was slightly obnoxious of him, considering how long he’d chosen to leave Matt exposed to everything the world could throw at him. But having him in front of him meant that he couldn’t deny how much that impulse still existed in him.

 

After a moment he decided he couldn’t spent the rest of the evening watching Matt Usher sleep on his couch, so he stood up and put the paperwork aside and walked through the house, getting things ready for bed. He took Bach out one last time and got her settled and checked on each of his kids, all of which were sound asleep, even Kylie. Then he went into his own bedroom and pulled the blankets down. And then he went back out into the living room and leaned over Matt and kissed the corner of his mouth gently.

 

“Hey,” he said in a low voice. “Matt. Come to bed.” He coaxed Matt off the couch, and Matt followed his lead, willing and pliant and mostly asleep, tumbling into the bed when Patrick tipped him backward. Patrick took his shoes off for him, since Matt looked more inclined to just roll over and fall immediately back to sleep. Which he did as soon as Patrick was done. Patrick, shaking his head at him, or maybe at himself, pulled the blankets up over him.

 

Patrick got ready for bed and turned off all the lights and stood for a second, listening to his silent house, the waves crashing along the shore outside, and Matt’s steady, even breaths. And then he slid into bed.

 

Matt turned into him immediately, cuddling close and breathing him in and then murmuring, “Mmm,” on a contented sigh. Then he mumbled blurrily, nuzzling against Patrick, “I never thought I’d get this ever again.”

 

Patrick planted a kiss in Matt’s hair, and did it again, and again, and again. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stop. “Shh,” he managed, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Go to sleep.”

 

“You’re better than I remember,” Matt said, instead of going to sleep. He still sounded mostly not-awake, and Patrick thought he should stop him talking. “You got better.”

 

“So did you,” Patrick promised him, and tucked him in closer. They hadn’t ordinarily slept like this, tucked up close, they were both restless sleepers and just hadn’t been in the habit but at just that moment Patrick couldn’t imagine them sleeping any other way.

 

Matt’s breaths evened out, and Patrick for a long time just listened to them, in counterpoint to the waves outside his window, and thought how long it had been since he’d heard another person’s breaths in his bedroom, and he wouldn’t have said that he’d missed it, he…

 

He would’ve said that he’d missed Matt, if he’d ever let himself think about that. He’d just really missed Matt.

 

Patrick closed his eyes and matched his breaths to Matt, trying to fall asleep and not panic about exactly how dizzily in love he was.  

 

***

 

Matt, woken by a shouting baby, startled into alertness, took in the dim light in the room, closed his eyes, and groaned, “What the fuck time is it?”

 

Patrick laughed at him, but it was Patrick, so Matt was okay with it. “Morning, according to Adam.”

 

“He’s got the wrong definition of it,” Matt mumbled, sticking his head under the pillow.

 

Patrick slid out of the bed, and Matt sighed, aware he couldn’t just let Patrick deal with all of this on his own. Matt was determined to prove to Patrick that he was all in, and that had to start with adjusting his wake-up time.

 

But Matt had just managed to stumble out of bed when Patrick appeared back in the bedroom, holding Adam, and said, “Get back in bed.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” said Matt valiantly. “I’m up.”

 

“No, no,” Patrick said, looking amused. “We’re all going back to bed. Come on.” And Patrick got into bed with Adam, settling him next to him.

 

“Oh,” said Matt, feeling slow on the uptake, but it was fucking early. He got back into bed as well, and Adam grinned at him and immediately crawled over to poke at Matt’s face.

 

“That’s how he shows affection,” Patrick informed him.

 

“What a peculiar love language,” Matt said, nipping lightly at Adam’s fingers because it seemed like a thing he should do.

 

Both Adam and Patrick laughed.

 

Matt, looking at Adam, couldn’t help but think of Patrick. The resemblance was strong, as it was with all of Patrick’s children. Matt felt like he was looking back in time when he looked at them. He hadn’t known Patrick as a baby, of course, but he imagined him exactly like this. “Can I ask you something?” he asked slowly, and tickled Adam’s stomach lightly.

 

Adam giggled with glee.

 

“Of course you can,” said Patrick. “You always can.”

 

Matt took a deep breath and looked across at Patrick. “How does he even exist? Not that he isn’t delightful, but…did she have him, put him in your arms, and walk away?”

 

Patrick looked at Adam for a moment, and then said, “Yeah. Pretty much. Basically.”

 

“I don’t want to pry…” said Matt, who wanted desperately to pry.

 

Patrick chuckled. “Yes, you do.”

 

“Okay, I do. Of course I do. Because the only reason any of this is happening is because she left you and you moved across the county, so _of course_ I want to pry and know how this all came to be.”

 

“You know what’s funny about this story?” asked Patrick thoughtfully.

 

“Funny about it? No. What?”

 

“In this story I’m you.”

 

Matt blinked. “Oh. Being left, you mean?”

 

“Being left. For startlingly similar reasons. Ashley was unhappy, for a very long time, and I just…didn’t notice. Or I didn’t comprehend how deeply unhappy she actually was. That’s probably more accurate. But, in another way, I’m not you at all, because I don’t think I ever made her happy. And you did…make me happy. A lot. But I think Ashley was always in love with…She was in love with a rock star who never actually existed. I think I bored her to tears. But she seemed like this…like this opportunity for…a completely opposite life. And I’d walked away from you and I thought that maybe that’s what I should do, I should try this completely opposite life. And I actually thought it had all worked out. I mean, we had the girls and I was so in love with my children and the problem was we had the girls right away and I think neither one of us stopped to really think about whether we were either of us actually in love with _each other_. And we…weren’t.”

 

Matt wasn’t sure he was breathing, because he didn’t want to disturb the story. Adam, annoyed at the lack of attention, launched an attack on Matt’s chest that Matt combated absently, with another tickle, focusing on Patrick.

 

“So,” said Patrick, and took a deep breath. “The thing was that I got used to not thinking very hard about things, or thinking very hard about how I felt, I guess. The kids keep me busy, they keep me endlessly busy, and I was working when I wasn’t taking care of them, and it was nice to be pleasantly exhausted, I just kept myself pleasantly exhausted, because if I thought…” Patrick’s gaze had wandered into the middle distance but he abruptly met Matt’s eyes. “Because if I thought, I would think about you, and how much I missed you, and I couldn’t think that, I couldn’t let myself think that, I’d get stuck in the swamp of you.”

 

“The swamp of me,” echoed Matt, trying to be humorous about it.

 

“I didn’t realize how much was wrong with my marriage because I didn’t let myself think about it,” Patrick said, refusing to be distracted from the throughline of his story.

 

But Matt couldn’t help the fact that he said bitterly, “How do you _do_ that? I wish you would teach me how to do that, how to _stop thinking_ , I can never just do that.”

 

“It’s what makes you you. That brain of yours constantly coming up with the next plot. The only way I would want you to stop thinking is through my tried-and-true perfected method from Swan days.” Patrick smiled across at him.

 

And Matt couldn’t help but smile back, because he understood: his racing thoughts had always been bearable when Patrick could shut them off with sex.

 

“Adam was theoretically, according to Ashley, an attempt to recapture the magic of the early days of our marriage, when the girls were babies. That’s what she said, on the day we brought him back from the hospital. And it didn’t work, she said. She couldn’t do it again, she said. And she walked out.”

 

“Patrick,” said Matt, because he didn’t know what else to say. He looked at the baby crawling over to Patrick.

 

“But actually it was fine,” said Patrick, and he sounded calm and matter-of-fact. “Because as soon as she said that thing about magic, I remember thinking, What magic? And that was what made me realize that probably we’d never had any business being married in the first place. And then, once she was gone, I realized she’d never really fully been present. The girls and I had always been a self-sufficient unit. And I feel a little bad about that, a little guilty, but the fact that she walked out and doesn’t ever even _call_ them makes me think it wasn’t all me pushing her out. But it’s fine. I think they’re fine. I know they only have me, but I think they’re doing okay.”

 

“Patrick,” said Matt. “They’re spectacular. Surely you see that. You’re really, really good at this.”

 

“I just…try,” said Patrick. “Yesterday? When you made the kids oatmeal for breakfast? That was the first time anyone other than me had ever been present for the kids’ morning routine. Ashley had _never_ done it. Not the entire time. And I never said anything, or realized that it was even _odd_ , until…I want you to know that I never demanded very much from Ashley because I didn’t care enough to do that. In case you ever feel singled out by how frustrated I was with you even though, on paper, you were a _much_ better significant other to me. That was because I loved you too much to settle for less than all of you, which was what I felt like you were asking me to do.”

 

“I know,” said Matt. “It wasn’t true. But I know I gave you that impression. Because I was young and stupid and giving you any other impression—the impression of how in love with you I actually was—was beyond me.” Matt paused. “Anna says I was too cool for school.”

 

Patrick started laughing, which was what Matt had hoped to accomplish. “Anna says _what_?”

 

“Anna’s ridiculous,” said Matt.

 

“Poor Anna,” said Patrick, still laughing, as he caught Adam from tumbling off the bed. “She’s not wrong.”

 

“No one has ever described me as ‘too cool for school,’” Matt said.

 

“And that’s a terrible oversight,” said Patrick, still looking amused.

 

“Thank you for telling me all of this,” said Matt seriously.

 

“You deserved to know,” said Patrick, growing serious himself.

 

“Should I tell you something important about me during the fifteen years we were apart?”

 

“It’s not a balance sheet,” said Patrick.

 

“I never let anyone stay the night,” Matt found himself saying, before he’d even made up his mind to commit to it.

 

Patrick blinked. “What?”

 

And, well, now he _was_ committed. “In fifteen years, I never let anyone stay. I…didn’t want to wake up with someone who wasn’t you.” That was the simplest way to put it. “So no one was ever allowed to stay.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, and his tone was inscrutable.

 

“I know,” Matt said, embarrassed. “My therapist said I had to work on it. She said I had to just _do_ it, and it would get easier every time, and I would stop wishing it was you. I was never able to.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, nudging Adam back into the center of the bed, and then leaning over and kissing Matt _hard_.

 

“Mmph,” said Matt, caught off-guard.

 

Patrick pulled back as suddenly as he’d kissed him. “Sorry that now you’re waking up to my baby, too.”

 

“No,” said Matt, breathless. “It’s great. This whole thing is great.”

 

Patrick smiled at him, and Matt thought, _I will do anything for that smile. Tell me what you want me to do_.

 

Patrick said, “I’ve got to get up and get the day underway. Do you want first shower?”

 

***

 

Matt watched Adam while Patrick dropped the girls off at school. It felt very serious and responsible to him, that Patrick should leave him in charge of his baby son, although it had happened so casually. _Can you watch Adam while I drop the girls off?_ Patrick had said. _It won’t be that long_ , and Matt, completely unprepared, had said, _Oh, yeah, of course_ , because his instinct was always to say yes to Patrick.  

 

“I’m going to do a great job with this,” Matt informed Adam. “Really stellar.”

 

Adam looked unimpressed and tried to crawl his way out of the living room.

 

Matt caught him and pulled him back in and said, “I don’t actually know what a great job would look like. I mean, I assume it’s something better than just keeping you alive. It feels like keeping you alive would be the bare minimum of a babysitting job.”

 

Adam continued to look unimpressed and tried to eat Bach’s food.

 

Matt rescued that disaster, too, and finally decided to just sit on the floor with Adam and build a tower that Adam kept enthusiastically knocking down and Bach kept running off with the blocks and Matt had a sudden dizzying moment of wondering how he’d ended up here. A week ago he’d been waking up hungover and alone, contemplating an endless meaningless existence.

 

Adam crawled onto his lap, settling in and thrusting blocks into Matt’s hands for building, and Matt gave into an impulse to kiss the baby-fine red hair on his head. He’d never kissed a baby’s head in his _life_.

 

“Look how domestic you look,” said Patrick from behind him.

 

Matt jumped, startled, and feeling vaguely self-conscious about the baby in his lap. But he said defensively, “I did a really excellent job babysitting.”

 

Patrick looked amused. “I can see that.” He dropped to the floor next to Matt and kissed him, sweet and tender, over Adam’s head, and Matt forgot about being self-conscious, because Patrick’s kiss was so _adoring_ , there was no way Matt could be anything but adored in the face of it.

 

Then Patrick leaned away from Matt and smiled at him and pulled his cell phone out and dialed a number and put it on speaker between them on the floor.

 

Matt lifted his eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing.

 

The phone was answered with, “Patrick, tell me you’ve agreed to make us both a lot of money.”

 

 _Brie_ , thought Matt. Another person whose voice he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

 

“Hello, Brie,” Patrick said, smiling at Matt. “Have you missed Lilah? Are you ready to reunite?”

 

“For the money in that contract?” said Brie. “Yes.”

 

“Are you ready to put up with me putting up with Matt?” asked Patrick, grinning now.

 

Matt rolled his eyes and shook his head at Adam, who tried to knock him in the head with a block.

 

“Lilah tells me you two have got that handled screwing each other’s brains out already,” said Brie casually.

 

Patrick blinked and looked at Matt, who stared back in surprise. “How would Lilah know that?” asked Patrick.

 

“Because Matt hasn’t returned a phone call in days.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” said Matt, forgetting Brie didn’t know he was on the call. Also forgetting about Adam in his lap. He belatedly clapped his hands over Adam’s ears, which Adam definitely did not appreciate.

 

“Hi, Matt,” chirped Brie.

 

“I never return phone calls,” said Matt defensively. “Why would Lilah assume that—”

 

“She didn’t,” said Brie. “That was a lucky guess that you were there.”

 

Matt groaned.

 

Patrick laughed. “Okay, fine, you got us.”

 

“I mean, Patrick, you would never agree to this if you hadn’t patched things up with Matt. You think I haven’t gotten to know you over all these years?”

 

“This is the most sense you have ever made at once, Brie,” said Patrick.

 

“The acorn that survives the winter grows into a tree,” said Brie.

 

“Wow,” said Matt, “I did not miss those…things.”

 

“They’re called aphorisms, Matt,” said Brie cheerfully.

 

“Close the deal, Brie, the paperwork looks fine to me,” Patrick told her.

 

“Bye, Mattrick,” said Brie cheerfully, and hung up.

 

Patrick looked at Matt. “You’re so bad at secrets. You’re _so bad_ at secrets.”

 

“Whatever,” said Matt, a little sulky. Because, well, _sometimes_ he was good at secrets. _Surely_.

 

Patrick kissed behind his ear, which appeased him a bit, then ruffled Adam’s hair, and then stood. “Okay. Let’s talk about our plans for the day.”

 

Matt was caught off-guard. He had no plan. He didn’t really have things to do, as a general rule. Filming “Who Can Sing the Best?” had been a rare and welcome blip in a life thoroughly without structure.

 

“Um,” he said.

 

Patrick wasn’t paying attention to him. He’d walked into the kitchen and was rummaging around in one of the cupboards. Adam crawled off of Matt’s lap to pursue him. “I’ve got to finish Nadia’s song,” Patrick was saying. “Yesterday was an unproductive day.”

 

“I mean,” said Matt. “Not the adjective I would have used.”

 

Patrick laughed. “I have to get the song done because probably getting ready for touring is going to take up a bunch of my time, and no offense, but you can’t help, not because I don’t appreciate the help, but we tend to write songs for _us_ together, as evidenced by the fact that last time you tried to help me with Nadia’s song we ended up with a brand new seduction song. And also, songwriting is foreplay for us, and we have Adam today.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt, getting to his feet and trying to seize every distraction he could to avoid talking about what he had to do that day, which was absolutely nothing, “speaking of all of that, where’s Mrs. Honeycutt?”

 

“She only takes him three days a week. The other two are mine.” Patrick looked down at Adam fondly. Adam had pulled himself to standing on Patrick’s leg and was clinging for dear life. “So that’s my plan for the day. What’s yours?”

 

“Oh, I’m…I’m very busy,” Matt asserted. “I have, like, a million things to do.”

 

“Oh,” said Patrick, sounding mildly surprised.

 

“Yeah, I have, like…” Matt tried to think of a plausible lie. “I have a million ‘Who Can Sing the Best?’ things to do.”

 

“The show’s not done?” Patrick sounded honestly quizzical.

 

“Well, yeah, but there’s…ongoing contractual obligations.” When in doubt, thought Matt, use a vague, legal-sounding phrase. He waved his hand around to add to the impression of so-much-to-do-so-little-time.

 

“Oh,” said Patrick. “Well, that’s good, then. I won’t feel like I’m kicking you out.”

 

“Not at all,” said Matt loftily. “Not. At. All.” He overenunciated the words to show just how lofty he felt about this whole situation.

 

Patrick tipped his head, looking curious now, so that had probably been overkill. “Okay…”

 

“See you, Adam,” Matt said, as casual as you please.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, and Matt looked at him, thinking, _Please don’t ask any more questions about how empty and meaningless my life is_. Patrick studied him for a moment, and Matt hated when Patrick studied him, because Patrick could always _see_ him, and Matt couldn’t really drop his eyes away to try to hide a little because Patrick would notice _that_ , too. Patrick didn’t say anything, though. Patrick, after a moment, tugged Matt in by his shirt collar and kissed him. “I’ll call you later.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, still striving for casualness, even with Patrick’s taste freshly on his lips.

 

“You should plan on spending the night here,” said Patrick, and his gray-green eyes were dark with intent.

 

“Oh,” said Matt, a little off-balance at the heat in Patrick’s gaze while he was still trying to maintain an aloofness. “Okay.”

 

Patrick’s mouth curved into a smile, much more wicked than his usual smiles. Patrick didn’t use that smile very much and it was positively lethal. “Plan on a more energetic evening than I let you have last night.”

 

Matt, feeling himself in a maelstrom of emotions, could only nod and let Patrick kiss him again and release him.

 

And then Matt, in his silent car, away from Patrick and his cozy home, felt bereft. He had nothing to do. Zero. His day was clear. Nobody needed or wanted him.

 

And then he physically shook himself and thought, _You’re Matt fucking Usher, you_ make _people want you_.

 

And then he said out loud, “You need a scheme, Matt.”

 

***

 

Matt’s manager and Patrick’s agent were old friends who were jubilant at being reunited via Skype.

 

Rachel sat on the call and listened to them catch up with each other and felt annoyingly superfluous. She was feeling doomed lately to feeling annoyingly superfluous, which was stupid. She was annoyed at herself for feeling something so _stupid_.

 

“You probably don’t need me anymore,” she said, trying hard not to sound bitter and excluded.

 

“Oh, no!” Brie and Lilah said in unison.

 

“Oh, we _definitely_ need you,” said Brie.

 

“You’re on the ground with them,” Lilah said. “You need to watch them for us.”

 

“Watch them do what?” asked Rachel blankly.

 

“They can be a little…melodramatic…sometimes,” said Lilah.

 

“I mean, that was back when they were kids,” Brie said. “They’ve grown up.”

 

“Speak for your client,” snorted Lilah.

 

“Matt sounded good today when I spoke to him,” said Brie.

 

“You spoke to Matt today? I’m glad to know he’s still alive, he never thinks to call _me_.” Lilah didn’t sound offended, merely matter-of-fact.

 

“Patrick called and had me on speakerphone, so I took a wild guess that Matt was listening in.” Brie shrugged.

 

“See.” Lilah abruptly seemed to be addressing Rachel again. “That’s exactly what we need to know.”

 

“What?” asked Rachel, with still very little idea what they were talking about.

 

“When they’re in sync with each other, they write lots and lots of music and make us tons of money,” said Lilah.

 

“When they fight it’s terrible and they’re so unhappy and Lilah and I did more fucking therapy, ugh,” added Brie.

 

“And poor Anna,” said Lilah.

 

“And now me?” said Rachel. “I’m not babysitting them. They’re grown men. They figure out their own sex lives.”

 

“What if we pay you double to do it for us?” asked Brie.

 

***

 

Rachel emerged from her office to the sound of Carmen laughing on the deck. Carmen must be entertaining. Rachel was never surprised to find Carmen with an admirer or two in the house.

 

But when Rachel walked onto the deck, Carmen’s admirer was Matt Usher, relaxing on one of her deck chairs and looking like a million bucks, like he was ready for the cover shoot for _Rolling Stone_. It would have been a good cover shoot, too, his dark hair windswept and his eyes inscrutably hidden behind sunglasses and an artful amount of stubble on his face and an impeccably casual outfit and a fucking glass of sangria in his hand.

 

Rachel was maybe in a terrible mood, she acknowledged.

 

“Look who dropped by,” Carmen said.

 

“I can see that,” Rachel said. “What do you want?”

 

“Sangria, Rachel?” Carmen asked her, already pouring out a glass. “You look like you could use one.”

 

“It’s, like, ten a.m.,” said Rachel.

 

“Time is nothing but a metaphor,” Matt said. “You shouldn’t use it to deny yourself life’s small pleasures.”

 

“What he said,” Carmen said, and pressed the glass into Rachel’s hand.

 

Rachel sized Matt up and thought of Lilah and Brie wanting her to keep an eye on things and said, “Where’s Patrick?”

 

“Busy,” Matt said. “Patrick is very busy. Patrick’s very in-demand.”

 

“Whereas you have nothing to do?” Rachel guessed.

 

“I lead a life of leisure,” Matt agreed.

 

“So you’ve decided to come and bother us?” said Rachel.

 

“Well, I’ve had an idea,” said Matt.

 

“Oh, God,” said Rachel.

 

“It’s a really good idea!” protested Matt.

 

“Last time you had an idea, I had to spend a ton of time and energy herding four cats together for a reunion tour.”

 

“Right, but you were paid for that,” said Matt. “It’s your _job_.”

 

Rachel couldn’t deny that.

 

“I would love to hear your idea,” Carmen said, perching on the deck railing. “Does it require the assistance of a devastatingly attractive woman named Carmen?”

 

Matt laughed. Matt clearly really liked Carmen, and Rachel wished she had it in her to just flirt outrageously with Matt and make him like her, too. She was just _bad_ at that. “Oh, always,” he said flippantly. “My ideas always require the assistance of devastatingly attractive women.”

 

“I bet,” purred Carmen.

 

“Does Patrick know how much you flirt?” Rachel interjected suddenly, irritated by this whole interaction.

 

Matt took a deliberate sip of his sangria, and his eyes were obscured behind his sunglasses but Rachel had the impression they were very much on her. He said eventually, “The idea that you think there’s anything about me Patrick doesn’t know is hilarious. There should be a surprise show. Spontaneous. On the beach.”

 

Rachel blinked at the change in topic. “What?”

 

“That’s my idea. We should crash somewhere, try it out. I want people _excited_. I want there to be buzz. I want it all over social media. Before the first scheduled concert, find us somewhere near here where we can crash the party, no advance warning, and play a couple of songs.”

 

“You need to rehearse,” said Rachel. “You think you’re just going to be able to play together like you did fifteen years ago?”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “So I guess you also need to find us rehearsal space, don’t you?” He took another sip of sangria before putting his glass down with a definitive clink and getting to his feet. “Thank you for the sangria, Carmen, it was lovely.” Then he turned to Rachel. “A surprise gig, somewhere on the beach: make it happen.”

 

“What makes you think you can crash a gig, unannounced, and anyone in the audience would _care_?” said Rachel.

 

“You need to play your piano more,” Matt said. “You’d feel better if you played your piano more.”

 

Which hit close enough to home that Rachel had to suppress her flinch. So Rachel hit back. “Do you know that your manager literally tried to hire me to make sure that you don’t fuck things up with Patrick again?”

 

Matt went still, so Rachel knew she’d hit her mark. “Lilah did that?”

 

“Yeah,” said Rachel, “and the fact that all of us have to run around doing the emotional labor in your relationship instead of _you_ doing it—”

 

“I’ve got it under control,” Matt said.

 

“Like you had the tour situation under control?”

 

“Better than that,” Matt snapped, “because Patrick’s my priority. The tour’s about Patrick.”

 

“Obviously. But you’ve got a lot of people invested in it now, so I hope you’re planning on following through on it.”

 

“I follow through on every scheme,” Matt retorted. “And you don’t even know who Swan _is_. Maybe you should track down some of our concerts before you worry that my making Patrick my priority would jeopardize anything. Carmen. Again. Thank you for the sangria,” said Matt, without taking his eyes off Rachel.

 

And then he turned and stalked out.

 

“ _Ay_ ,” said Carmen. “I feel like that could have gone better.”

 

“He’s an arrogant prick,” said Rachel.

 

“He’s defensive, like a cornered animal.” Carmen sipped her sangria casually. “Like someone else I know.” She lifted her eyebrows at Rachel.

 

“This is a terrible day,” said Rachel, and fled to her office.

 

***

 

Matt called Lilah while he was driving possibly too fast back to the hotel.

 

Lilah answered it with, “Matt! Calling me? To what do I owe this great honor?”

 

“I’m not going to fuck it up with Patrick again,” Matt clipped out immediately.

 

There was a pause. Then Lilah said, “Matt—”

 

“Did you tell Rachel to fucking _babysit_ me, like I’m not capable of—I am perfectly capable of—How dare you, of all people, imply that I haven’t learned _every fucking lesson_ I could have possibly learned over the past fifteen years.”

 

“You’re right,” Lilah said. Her voice was soft and sincere, and it deflated a little bit of Matt’s anger. “You’re right, you are. Am I allowed to worry about you? Matt, you’d cut yourself up into little tiny pieces if Patrick asked you to. Do you think I want to leave you undefended while you throw yourself into Patrick again?”

 

Matt stared unseeingly at the road he was driving on. It was dangerous enough that he made himself pull over to the side and stop.

 

Lilah said, “Matt?”

 

“He wouldn’t ask me to do that,” said Matt finally. “It’s Patrick. He’d never ask me to—He never asked for much. He asked for so little, really.”

 

“The people who care about you want you to make each other happy. The people who care about you don’t want you to break each other’s hearts again. The people who care about you will do whatever we can to look out for you here.”

 

“I’m okay,” said Matt, and blew out a breath, and thought of Patrick: _I have always wanted you more than anything else on the planet._ “I’m better than okay,” he said. “We missed each other. It wasn’t one-sided. We’re working on things. We’re not just screwing each other’s brains out, or whatever you told Brie.”

 

“No. You never were just screwing each other’s brains out. It’s probably good you’re conscious of that going in. I shouldn’t have told Rachel about your personal life like that. That was bad of me, Matt. I’m sorry.”

 

Matt sighed. “It’s fine. It just caught me off-guard. But I can recognize that you have my best interests at heart.”

 

“I always have your best interests at heart. If you called me more often, you’d be more sure of that.”

 

“Bye, Lilah,” said Matt, smiling as he hung up.

 

When he resumed driving, he was calmer, but when he got to the hotel he was still keyed up enough that, on his way through the lobby to the elevators, he caught sight of the piano out of the corner of his eyes and drew himself up short.

 

And then he walked over to it and sat down and played a scale. It was mostly in tune. Good enough.

 

“Excuse me,” said one of the hotel workers, coming over to him. “Please don’t touch the piano.”

 

“I’m Matt Usher,” he said, and to his relief the worker did seem to recognize the name, blinking. “You want me to play this piano for you,” Matt continued.

 

And then he did.

 

***

 

“That was weird,” Patrick said to Adam. “Was that weird? Was Matt behaving oddly?”

 

Adam held his arms up to be picked up, and Patrick obliged.

 

“Nope,” he said. “You’re right. Matt is always odd.” Patrick kissed Adam’s hair and inhaled the scent of him and thought of walking in to Matt with his lips resting on Adam’s head. He smiled against Adam’s head, feeling soppy and in love, and let himself have a moment of reveling in it, before saying, “Okay. I have to finish this song for Nadia, I _have_ to.”

 

Except that Patrick couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking of Matt, protesting far too much about having plenty of things to do. All that protesting: It seemed unlikely Matt actually had much to do at all.

 

“I don’t know,” Patrick said to Adam, who was still trying to get brave enough to take a step. “Maybe we should check up on Matt. Not because I don’t think he’s capable of making it through the day on his own but because…I don’t know, he didn’t even flirt with me when I was flirting with him and that’s very not like Matt. Do you think he was hurt that I was kicking him out?”

 

Adam had no wisdom to offer on this. Adam was concentrating.

 

Patrick watched him and said encouragingly, “Go on. You can totally take a step, I’m right here.”

 

Which made Adam decide _not_ to take a step, because clearly he was only determined to do it when his father wasn’t watching. He dropped to the floor and crawled off toward Bach.

 

Patrick sighed and tapped a few piano keys and texted Matt. _Where are you?_

 

He tried to work a little bit more, didn’t get a response from Matt, and decided it was definitely normal behavior to go to Matt’s hotel and make sure he was okay.

 

Except that when he and Adam got to Matt’s hotel, what they were treated to was the final notes of _Forever_ drifting through the lobby, Matt’s voice trailing off on the final mournful repetition of “And you, and you,” and then a smattering of applause.

 

Matt’s voice said, “Thank you, thank you,” and Patrick followed it, amazed, around the corner of the lobby, where a small crowd had formed around the grand piano where Matt was clearly holding court, even if Patrick couldn’t see him behind all the people.

 

“Okay,” said Matt’s voice cheerfully, and he sounded entirely in his element, which Patrick knew he was, because Matt relished performing. “We need something less fucking mournful.”

 

Someone called out, “ _Kiss Me Last_ ,” and Matt said, “I can do _Kiss Me Last_ ,” and launched into it.

 

Patrick sank into one of the stiff, formal, uncomfortable chairs scattered through the lobby, settling Adam on his lap and listening to Matt’s rendition of the song. He was playing the piano playfully, not quite perfectly, and singing the song the same way, approximating some of the lyrics. Patrick knew that Matt still knew the song by heart—he just _knew_ this—so he assumed Matt was doing it to flirt with the crowd around him, being winking about the performance and making it as natural as possible. Matt had always been an excellent live performer, adept at building a rapport, and he clearly still had the knack. Patrick realized he was staring open-mouthed, and quickly closed it so he would look less ridiculous if anyone happened to notice him.

 

Matt finished _Kiss Me Last_ and the crowd applauded for him, and Matt thanked them again.

 

“ _Call Your Bluff_!” someone shouted out as a suggestion.

 

Patrick froze, because _Call Your Bluff_ was the angry song Matt had written in response to Patrick’s own angry song.

 

Matt said immediately, simply, “I don’t sing _Call Your Bluff_ anymore. What about something new, hmm?” He had been playing the piano absently, but now the notes formed into chords and then a melody, and Patrick recognized it: the seduction song Matt had been working on. Only it was somewhat more elaborate now. More polished somehow.

 

And when Matt started singing, they were new lyrics Patrick had never heard before. “It’s no laughing matter,” sang Matt, “the way I’m short of breath before we even…” Matt drew in a dramatic breath into a deliberate silence, and then purred, “Kiss,” followed by a flourishing chord. “Every thought just scatters, every inch of your skin is a feast I don’t want to…” Another deliberate pause, before Matt breathed, “Miss.” The crowd was rapt, because Matt could do that, could pull you in with nothing more than a tease before the next word.

 

“Every breath, every gasp, every heartbeat,” sang Matt, and now he was letting the pace and drive of the song pick up. “Baby, give it all to me.” Someone on the crowd whistled in appreciation of the line, and Patrick could hear Matt smiling over the next lyric, “I want to make you smile, and laugh, and beg.” He put a little emphasis on the last word, which got him another whistle, and Patrick smiled and closed his eyes and leaned his head back and just listened.

 

“I want to make you—” Matt cut himself off suddenly, and the piano slowed, and Matt’s voice moved from the tongue-in-cheek smirk of the previous lines to a pleading earnestness. “Fall to me,” sang Matt. “Darling, I know how to seduce you, how to stroke you hot like fire, but seduction’s not my aim, I’ve set my bar much higher, baby, fall to me, caress-dazed, kiss-dizzy, fall to me, touch-drunk, contact-tizzy, darling, fall to me…”  Matt’s voice trailed off, and the piano stopped, and Patrick opened his eyes, feeling a little caress-dazed and kiss-dizzy just from the song. _Fall to me_ , begged Matt plaintively, and Patrick wanted to say, _Is that for me? Of course it’s for me. And I can’t imagine why, I’ve never fallen anywhere else_.

 

“That’s it,” said Matt, and the crowd applauded warmly. “It’s not finished yet,” he explained, as the applause grew in crescendo. Patrick had the sense that the crowd had been caught off-guard by the end of the song, but they’d really enjoyed it. The applause was genuine. And it was deserved, thought Patrick, because it was a good song and Matt was making it better.

 

“Okay,” said Matt, and Patrick thought it sounded like he was wrapping things up.

 

And then someone said, “ _Trick Up Your Sleeve_!”

 

Matt laughed a little and said, “Now, now, you know that’s not my song, Patrick Reed sings that one.”

 

And then someone—maybe the same someone?—said, “Patrick Reed’s here!”

 

Patrick, startled, sat up straighter, and the crowd looked around and caught sight of him and parted so that he could see Matt now, sitting behind the piano. He was wearing sunglasses, which was such a Matt-Usher-performing thing that Patrick hadn’t seen in so very long that the pang of _déjà vu_ was very real. The sunglasses meant that Patrick couldn’t entirely read his expression, although judging from the set of his mouth he was surprised.

 

The crowd started clapping, which grew into some added whistles and whoops of encouragement.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, and now his mouth curled into his trap of a smile. “They want you to sing.”

 

Patrick had stood, because he couldn’t ignore the commotion the crowd was making, people were literally starting to drift in from _off the street_. He said, as he moved toward the piano, “Do you know the last time I sang in public?”

 

“Fifteen years ago,” said Matt blithely, and there was scattered laughter from the members of the crowd close enough to hear them.

 

“Do you know the last time I sang _Trick Up Your Sleeve_?” asked Patrick.

 

“I’m assuming also fifteen years ago,” said Matt, and stood from the piano. “I bet you remember it.”

 

“It’s got complicated lyrics,” said Patrick.

 

“Whose fault is that?” asked Matt, and took Adam out of Patrick’s arms. Patrick was too startled to even resist. “Everyone, this is Patrick’s baby Adam. Isn’t he great? Everyone say, ‘Hi, Adam.’”

 

“Hi, Adam,” chorused the crowd, clearly eating out of Matt’s hand.

 

Matt grinned.

 

“Say hi,” Patrick urged Adam, as he settled himself at the piano. Adam looked too perplexed to wave his hand. “He does wave,” Patrick told the crowd. “He’s just overwhelmed.” Patrick played a scale and wondered what the hell he was doing.

 

Matt said, “Lucky people of this lobby, I give you the great Patrick Reed.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “You’re overdoing it.”

 

Matt grinned. And then he pushed his sunglasses up to rest in the thicket of his dark hair. His eyes were warm and delighted and Patrick thought, _Damn it, he knows I’ll do anything when he looks at me like that_.

 

So Patrick put his fingers on the furious driving chords that were most of the energy of _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ and started playing them. It was gratifying when the crowd went wild off the chords, the way the crowd used to go wild off the chords when they played _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ live.

 

“You have always relied on a flippant insouciance,” sang Patrick, “sufficient to rebut any given happenstance,” and he didn’t look at Matt, because he never looked at Matt when he sang these lyrics, and they were harsh lyrics, and he understood why Matt hated them, but also the song had been an enormous and unavoidable hit for them, especially popular in live settings.

 

He hit the first refrain, singing, “Your innate charm, you use to disarm, when everyone around you’s prepared to do you harm. No sin you think can stand up to your grin, all of us for a while in thrall to your guile. You think the executioner will grant you a reprieve, Not this time, better have a trick up your sleeve…” The refrain ended on an upnote, leaving people wanting more, and as usual that questioning note, inviting an answer, led to the crowd whistling at him.

 

It was the third time through the refrain that it finally got resolved, and the crowd had always adored that, and Patrick, coming up to it, readied himself, “Not this time, better have a trick up your sleeve,” and the crowd, as they always did, sang the next line with him, “before I pack my things and finally leave!” It was, like the rest of the song, a harsh line, but Patrick couldn’t help the fact that he grinned, because he had _forgotten_ what it felt like to have a crowd kick in and sing along. The line repeated, as he led them into it, looking up at them and cutting the underlying piano out, the better to hear the crowd. People had their cell phones up, filming, and Patrick thought, _Of course_ , he hadn’t really considered that, but that made total sense.

 

The crowd clapped and cheered in the wake of the song, and Adam, recognizing something he knew how to do and apparently feeling more comfortable, joined in with the applause.

 

“Can you play us _Luck_?” someone in the crowd shouted.

 

“No, no,” Patrick said. “One song was more than I thought I was going to perform right now.”

 

“But we never heard _Luck_!” someone else exclaimed.

 

Patrick looked at Matt. “You didn’t play them _Luck_?” It was the song they were best known for, so Patrick assumed it would have been Matt’s first choice.

 

“ _Luck_ is hard when it’s just a piano,” Matt said. “I tried to explain to them.”

 

“Oho,” said Patrick, grinning. “How ridiculous.” He turned to the crowd. “Did Matt Usher tell you he couldn’t play you _Luck_ on just a piano?”

 

The crowd, recognizing that they had won, cheered in response.

 

“Because,” said Patrick, “I can definitely play you _Luck_ on just a piano. Listen and learn, Usher.”

 

Matt looked amused. “Oh, take it away.”

 

In truth, _Luck_ was a tricky song, because it depended on a lot of different parts, but Patrick knew that if he played it just this edge of chaotic, he could get the shape of the song, and the crowd whistled when he managed to layer the saxophone line in on top of the frantic piano line that he had to keep up for the song.

 

And that was just the _intro_.

 

But he reached the first line of the song and looked up at Matt to get their timing right, and later he thought how automatically he did that, how automatically they had just fallen right back into this. Matt was looking right back at him, and they drew in their breaths identically, out of a habit neither of them had realized they still had, and said in perfect synch and harmony, “Can we talk about,” landing exactly where it was supposed to land over Patrick’s piano.

 

Matt smiled at him as he sang the next line, although the crowd had cheered loudly enough that Patrick was pretty sure it had been drowned out.

 

By the end of the song, Patrick was playing furious runs and singing his counterpoint melody to Matt and trying to keep track of all of the moving parts of _Luck_ , until he and Matt met back up again to harmonize over “I’m used to the way you make my breath stutter, used to the way you can make me shudder.”

 

Then Matt grinned as he took his next line, “You say to me, hey…” He let it trail off and gestured to the crowd, and then covered Adam’s ears as the crowd shouted at him. “You want to fuck?”

 

Matt was laughing as he sang, “Oh, we can’t believe our luck.”

 

The applause was loud and raucous and appreciative, but _Luck_ always brought that reaction. Patrick had just _forgotten_.

 

Matt, Adam still in his arms, was bowing dramatically to the crowd, his sunglasses back covering his eyes, and then he swept his arm toward Patrick, who stood from the piano and bowed as well. He felt a little ridiculous doing so, but the applause was warm and so he decided not to overthink it. There was a certain kind of buzz that happened after a live performance that Patrick had completely forgotten and he just wanted to ride it for a little while and not second-guess the sheer foolishness of what they’d just done.

 

The crowd was breaking up, coming up to ask for selfies, and Adam squawked in a panic at all the strangers and reached for Patrick.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said, taking him back into his arms. Adam clung to him tightly, and Patrick felt himself come down off the performance high with a definitive thump. “We have to go,” he said to Matt. “Adam and I, I mean. You can stay.”

 

“What?” Matt looked away from the selfie he was posing for. “Don’t go.”

 

“I have to,” said Patrick. “It was fun. I’m not angry. Just deal with your adoring public—”

 

“Wait,” Matt said. “One second,” he said to the fan hoping for a selfie. And then he turned to Patrick and handed him his room key envelope. “I’ll meet you there.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, and, not sure what else to do, went to Matt’s room.

 

***

 

Matt, on the sort of euphoric high that meant he could barely register anything around him, opened his hotel room door on Patrick sprawled on his bed and thought, _Fuck, you have everything you ever wanted at just this moment, how the fuck did you pull this off?_

 

“Hi,” he said to Patrick, sounding sappy and ridiculous, and let the door close behind him.

 

“Hi,” said Patrick.

 

“Hi, Adam,” Matt said, stepping over the baby where he was steadily ripping up the notepad that came with the hotel room. Then he dropped onto the bed with Patrick and said again, “Hi,” and stretched out next to him.

 

“We already did that bit,” Patrick said, amused.

 

“Hi hi hi,” said Matt, and bit Patrick’s ear.

 

Patrick said, “You’re basically drunk right now. You know that, right?”

 

“It’s a natural high,” Matt mumbled into the delicious skin behind Patrick’s ear.

 

“Oh, I know,” Patrick said. “I remember.”

 

Matt sucked a mark underneath Patrick’s jaw, making him gasp underneath him, and then lifted his head up to look down at him. “Hi,” he said again.

 

“And the critics call you a poet,” said Patrick, a little too breathless to be convincingly sarcastic.

 

“Thank you for playing with me,” Matt said.

 

“You’re hard for me to say no to,” said Patrick.

 

“Am I?” Matt grinned and settled his head on Patrick’s chest. “Tell me more.”

 

Patrick’s hand tugged through Matt’s hair, and Matt closed his eyes and let himself float on the performance high. “Matthew Usher,” he murmured. “With your cunning, clever brain. You need to be kept busy.”

 

“Mmm,” Matt agreed.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me you had nothing to do today?”

 

“You’re ruining my high,” Matt told him.

 

“That seduction song,” Patrick said. “When have you been working on that?”

 

“Always,” said Matt. “You know how it is. I’m always working on it.”

 

Patrick drifted his fingers along the nape of Matt’s neck and said, “Who are you asking to fall to you?”

 

“You,” said Matt, pressing back against the light pressure of Patrick’s fingertips. “I’m always talking to you.”

 

“What makes you think I’m not just endlessly falling to you?”

 

“The past fifteen years,” said Matt, without thinking.

 

Patrick’s fingers hesitated, then resumed their stroking. And Patrick said, lightly, “You know, you’re not supposed to keep your hotel room keys in that little envelope with the room number. It’s very unsafe.”

 

“Oh, Christ,” said Matt, “stop talking,” and clambered up onto Patrick so that he could kiss him properly, which he had just started do, around Patrick’s smile, when Adam started squawking indignantly at the end of the bed.

 

“Uh-oh,” said Patrick. “He hasn’t been the center of attention for all of five whole minutes.”

 

Matt pulled Adam up onto the bed with them and said, “I sympathize. Never give up being the center of attention, Adam. Always demand it.”

 

“Don’t tell him that,” Patrick said.

 

“It’s such good life advice,” Matt said, and caught the look on Patrick’s face, which was…unreadable. “What?” Matt asked self-consciously.

 

“Nothing,” said Patrick, although his tone sounded strangled.

 

Matt tipped his head at him, confused.

 

And then Patrick distracted him by saying, “Do you want to go for a drive?”

 

***

 

“This is the most dad car,” Matt said of Patrick’s minivan, sounding gleeful about it.

 

“I’m a dad,” Patrick said. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

 

“I always buckle my seatbelt. What are your presets?” Matt pushed every button for the radio three times each. “Fuck, every radio station here is terrible.”

 

“My baby is in the backseat, we try not to swear in front of him in the hope that his first word will be respectable. Also, you only think that because they’re not playing Swan.”

 

“Sorry, Adam,” Matt said, and then said, “Ha,” and turned the radio up on a song Patrick had written for a singer a few years ago who’d had a minor hit with it. “It’s one of yours!” he shouted over the song.

 

Patrick glanced in the rearview mirror at Adam, who he was trying to put to sleep. Adam was watching Matt with wide-eyed astonishment edged with hero worship. All of Patrick’s kids, Patrick thought in amusement, were going to end up worshipping Matt.

 

“Do you think this music is loud?” Patrick shouted back at him.

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Matt. “How _old_ are you?” And then he startled Patrick by kissing his shoulder, a quick little brush of affection that caught Patrick off-guard. Even though it shouldn’t have. Matt had promised to be more physically affectionate, and Matt was still riding his performance high so he was all over the place, but it made Patrick think that Matt had been right: Patrick hadn’t felt touched enough by Matt in the old days, Patrick definitely hadn’t felt that casual affection that Matt had just bestowed upon him.

 

The song ended, and Patrick turned the volume down.

 

“Patrick,” whined Matt.

 

“Listen,” said Patrick, glancing in the rearview mirror again. “I’m trying to put Adam to sleep.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Matt. “Well, you didn’t say that was your objective. I can help with that.” Matt turned off the radio and twisted in his seat to look at Adam. “Do you want a lullaby?”

 

Adam looked receptive to the idea.

 

“Do you know any lullabies?” Patrick asked.

 

“I can turn any song into a lullaby,” Matt scoffed. And then he began singing a soft, slow version of _Luck_. “Can we talk about how the sight of you is sometimes more than I can bear, how the sound of my name in the tone of your voice is the only sound I can hear, how the feel of you when you brush against me drives me to distraction, how the taste of you is an endless question spurring me to action.”

 

The song in its original incarnation was a raucous dance song with a driving drumbeat and too much going on. Matt’s stripped-down version made Patrick listen to the lyrics he hadn’t listened to in forever and really _hear_ them. He’d sung this song automatically that afternoon, concentrating more on the complicated piano version he was making up as he went along, and he had a sudden flashback to writing it with Matt, and yeah, it had been a fast song, the rushing thrill ride of falling in love, but the words seemed perfect like this to Patrick, gentle and crooning, Matt’s voice barely above a whisper. Patrick glanced in the rearview mirror again, at Adam’s drooping eyelids.

 

Matt sang to Adam, so sweet, so lovely, with that ache Matt could put into his singing that made listeners feel like he was laid bare in front of them, “You’re a four-leaf clover, an impossible joy that I’ve found, I can’t help but blush, whenever you’re around.”

 

Adam was properly sleeping now, and even though Matt was still singing in his direction, Patrick felt like he definitely wasn’t singing to Adam anymore.

 

“My breath catches in a stutter, my heart is all a-shudder, but you get it all unstuck, and I…” The line was quick in the original version of the song, hurried into the space between drumbeats. Matt drew it out now, adding a little flourish to it. “I can’t believe my luck.”

 

Patrick turned into the parking lot of their destination and parked in the shade and looked at Matt. “That was beautiful.”

 

Matt smiled at him. “Want to make out for a little bit?”

 

Patrick laughed. “I thought you might want a lobster roll. That’s why I brought you here.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt. “Food is good.”

 

Patrick rolled the car’s windows down to pick up the breeze coming off the ocean and make sure the car interior stayed cool and said, “Stay here with Adam, I’ll get the food and be right back.”

 

Patrick stood in line at the clam shack and got Matt a lobster roll and got himself fried clams that he knew Matt would steal some of, and some clam cakes for them to split, and he carried it all back to the car, where Matt had tipped back in his seat and had his eyes closed.

 

Patrick hesitated, then Matt said, “I’m not asleep,” and opened his eyes.

 

“Shame,” said Patrick. “I was just going to eat your lobster roll.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt, spying on Patrick’s food. “I can be persuaded to share if you’ll share your fried clams.”

 

“Agreed,” said Patrick, and spread the food out on the console between them like a little car picnic.

 

Matt looked delighted. He took a bite of his lobster roll and hummed happily and said, “Patrick, this is _so nice_.”

 

Patrick was amused. “You’re on an adrenaline high still. It’s lunch in a car.”

 

“It’s nice,” said Matt. “You’re nice. You’re a nice person who’s nice to me.”

 

“Matt, again, I bought you lunch and made you eat in a car, I’m worried your bar is set very low.”

 

“And I’m worried _your_ bar is very low,” said Matt. “Did I have you conditioned not to expect anything better than hurried handjobs in the back of the bus?”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “That feels like it came out of nowhere.”

 

“I’m just saying.” Matt bit into a clam cake. “I’m going to _romance_ you this time around.”

 

“With your mouth full,” said Patrick, unaccountably fond even in the face of that nonsense.

 

“It’s charming,” said Matt. “You’re charmed.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, “why didn’t you just tell me that you had nothing to do today?”

 

Matt froze, and Patrick regretted asking the question, and then thought that they couldn’t—they just _couldn’t_ —avoid things anymore the way they had before. Maybe he should have just waited to ask it until Matt had come down from his high some.

 

“I had stuff to do,” said Matt, and Patrick could _tell_ he was lying.

 

“Matt—”

 

“Look,” said Matt hotly, “just because I don’t have jam-packed days with a million people depending on me for their very _existence_ doesn’t mean that I wasted my life.”

 

Patrick drew his eyebrows together. “Matt.”

 

“Because I have done a ton of really important things over the past fifteen years, so, you know, there’s that.” Matt gestured with a fried clam.

 

“Do you feel like you wasted your life?”

 

“No,” said Matt stubbornly. “Because I _didn’t_.”

 

“Oh, Matt,” Patrick sighed, suddenly realizing. “Do _I_ make you feel like you wasted your life?”

 

Matt bit savagely at the fried clam, then said sulkily, “A little.”

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Patrick said, because he didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

 

Matt took a bite of his lobster roll, then admitted, “You were my plan for the day. You were kind of my plan for my _life_. So. You know.” Matt shrugged.

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, and then didn’t know what else to say. Finally he settled on, “It isn’t that I don’t understand what you’re saying. It’s just that it’s probably better that we…have other things. You know? Like…we didn’t, before, and it was a mess. It probably wasn’t good.”

 

“No,” said Matt, sounding miserable, looking unhappily at another fried clam in his hand. “You’re right. It wasn’t good. It’s not good. I should have things to do.”

 

“Oh, no,” said Patrick. “This is terrible. I ruined your high. I didn’t mean to ruin your high. I just wanted to… I didn’t want you to _lie_ to me. You worried me this morning, you were out-of-character, I came looking for you because I was worried. If we’re doing this again—”

 

Matt looked up swiftly. “If?”

 

“Yes. Good point. We shouldn’t have to feel like we need to lie to each other. You know?”

 

“Okay,” said Matt. “Fine. Fair enough. So what was that look for on the bed?”

 

“What?” said Patrick, even though he knew immediately what Matt was talking about.

 

Matt scoffed at him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. When I asked, you said it was nothing, and it clearly wasn’t nothing. So. I don’t see why I’m the only one getting a talking-to.”

 

“I’m not trying to give you a talking-to,” said Patrick. “I’m just trying to _talk_.”

 

But Matt looked _miserable_ , when Matt had just been so _happy_ , and Patrick said helplessly, “You’re so good with my kids.”

 

Matt blinked and asked, sounding completely lost, “What?”

 

“That’s what I was thinking. That you’re good with my kids. And you don’t even _notice_. You just… You’re just good with them. You held Adam while we sang without even thinking about it. He interrupted you kissing me and you just reached over and pulled him onto the bed and cuddled him. You quizzed Miranda on her geography. Kylie felt comfortable enough with you to give you some kind of protective speech. Hailey is jealous that I get to spend time with you without her. You’re just…good with my kids, and it’s been a while since anyone but me was good with my kids. Ashley left Adam when he was so, so young and I don’t think he has ever had anyone but me to reach for and that just… You’re good with my kids.” Patrick couldn’t think what else to say. He didn’t know how to describe how he felt when Matt just… _was good with his kids_. Patrick had gone so, so long without that, he didn’t even know how to process the situation.

 

Matt stared at him, and then finally said, “Oh.”

 

Patrick chuckled. “Yeah.”

 

“I mean. That was an inadequate response. I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You don’t need to have anything to say.”

 

“No, no, I always have something to say,” said Matt. “Your kids are great.”

 

“They are,” said Patrick. “I agree.”

 

“It’s not a scheme. I like them.”

 

“I know.”

 

“No, I know that you worry a lot about me scheming around you, and I’ve been trying to be really good about that.”

 

“You get bored, you know,” said Patrick. “That’s why you scheme. You’ve got this busy brain that never shuts up and you get bored.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “Okay. Since we’re being honest.”

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows.

 

“I left your house today and thought that I needed a scheme. Like. What was I going to do all day? I needed a scheme.”

 

“And your scheme was giving a concert in your hotel lobby?” guessed Patrick.

 

“No. That was impromptu. I was upset, and I had to play, and there was a piano.”

 

“Upset about having nothing to do?”

 

“No, upset because my scheme involved asking Rachel to find us a venue to give an impromptu concert, which didn’t go well, because Rachel doesn’t like me.”

 

Patrick sighed. “You two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”

 

“And then I found out that Lilah and Brie are basically conspiring to have Rachel _babysit_ us.”

 

“What does that mean?” asked Patrick, perplexed.

 

“I don’t know. But the idea the people around us all assume we’re not going to be able to get this to work is…” Matt waved his hand. “Annoying.”

 

Patrick considered, watching Matt, clearly tense and unhappy, glare out the window toward the sea. Then he said, “I think they just want to make sure we don’t break each other’s hearts.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt, and huffed out a breath. “I get that. I wish…” Matt looked at Patrick, suddenly enough that it caught Patrick unaware, the glittering intensity of his dark eyes, the laser focus of him. Matt had been dreamy and hazy on his high, and sulky and fidgety in his anger, and now he was just _devastating_. “I wish they could understand that I saw you again and it was like the first deep breath I’d taken in so long that I’d forgotten I was drowning. I’m not going to fuck this up with you.”

 

Matt’s tone was fierce, the set of his mouth stubborn, and Patrick made a mess of their food in his haste to get to him over the console, to catch up his mouth with his own and just _devour_ him.

 

Matt kissed back, as fiercely as he’d just delivered his proclamation, and Patrick could have kissed him forever except for the fact that it was awkward and uncomfortable and he put his hand directly in Matt’s lobster roll trying to get a better angle.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, drawing back and looking at his mayonnaise-covered hand.

 

“My lobster roll,” said Matt. “How terrible of you. To waste lobster.” He kept darting forward to press kisses to random places on Patrick’s face, as Patrick tried to find a napkin.

 

“Stop,” Patrick said, laughing. “I’m trying to see.” He succeeded in cleaning off his hand and looked at Matt, who settled back in his seat and smiled across at Patrick, his sweet uncomplicated just-for-Patrick smile.

 

“What?” Matt asked, and Patrick realized he was just sitting there looking at him.

 

“This smile is good,” Patrick said, and reached out a hand to brush his fingers over Matt’s lips. “Keep this smile.”

 

“I’ll try,” said Matt. “Did you have a good time today?”

 

“You know I did.”

 

“I’m so glad you wandered by the hotel. We should do that more often.”

 

“Play music together? We’re going on tour.”

 

“Yes, but that’s a different experience and you know it.”

 

Patrick couldn’t argue with that. “Do you want to come to my house and sit very quietly while I work on Nadia’s song?”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Matt.

 

***

 

Matt was the worst at sitting quietly. He tried, he really did, but he was just _bad_ at it.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said in exasperation, after Matt had somehow managed to knock an entire stack of magazines off the side table.

 

“Sorry,” said Matt. “I was trying to be very gentle getting one of them. Can we talk about your tragic belief that you’re actually ever going to renovate this house, as manifested by the fact that you _subscribe_ to magazines about renovation.”

 

“We can talk about that after I finish writing Nadia’s song. This is the time period of the day when you’re supposed to be quiet.”

 

“Sorry, sorry, yes, right.” Matt tried to settle down to read some of the magazines but they were excruciatingly boring.

 

“Stop it,” Patrick said.

 

“Stop what?” said Matt.  

 

“You keep making dubious noises over there. It’s distracting.”

 

“Am I? Sorry. I didn’t even know. I’m just very dubious. Don’t you have any other magazines? Don’t you have, like, _Cosmo_?”

 

“ _Cosmo_?”

 

“I could read about how you don’t pay enough attention to my perineum.”

 

Patrick laughed that particular laugh he had when Matt had caught him off-guard and he couldn’t help it. Matt liked that laugh, he liked how he could elicit it even when Patrick was trying not to be amused by him. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“ _Cosmo_ has articles about that.”

 

“Do you read a lot of _Cosmo_?”

 

“No. I did. At one point. I don’t know. I came across them somewhere.”

 

“Do I not pay enough attention to your perineum?”

 

“I have no complaints so far,” replied Matt, flipping through another renovation magazine.

 

“So _far_?” said Patrick.

 

“Your bedroom is white.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your bedroom walls. They’re white. All the kids have vibrant colors, but your walls are white.”

 

Patrick started playing the piano under their conversation, little snatches of Nadia’s song. “White is soothing.”

 

“White isn’t you at all. My house in L.A., it’s all white. Entirely white. You would hate it.”

 

“Why is it all white?” Patrick sounded curious.

 

“That’s an L.A. thing,” Matt said. “I don’t know. My interior designer did it all.”

 

“You hired an interior designer?”

 

“Not all of us want to spend our time painting our own walls.”

 

“But that means your house isn’t you,” Patrick protested.

 

Matt considered, looking around himself at this ramshackle yet unmistakably cozy room. “Is your house you?”

 

“I think it’s getting there,” said Patrick.

 

“No, it’s very you,” Matt said. “It’s all work-in-progress-y. That’s so you.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” asked Patrick.

 

“That bit you just played right there is the best bit. You need to highlight that. Strip everything else away.”

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick, sounding thoughtful, and stopped playing.

 

Matt said, “Did you like the way the _Fall to Me_ song is coming along? What did you think of it?”

 

Patrick surprised him by suddenly dropping on top of him where he was sprawled on the couch.

 

“Oof,” said Matt, even though Patrick did an admirable job of distributing his weight and not crushing him.

 

“Hi,” said Patrick and kissed him.

 

“Hi,” Matt mumbled back into Patrick’s mouth. “I thought—you were supposed to be—working.”

 

“I was worried,” Patrick said, rubbing his nose against Matt’s, “that your perineum felt neglected.”

 

Matt laughed until he barely had any breath left, and then Patrick kissed the rest of it out of him.

 

***

 

Patrick left early to pick up the girls from school. He took a digital copy of Nadia’s song with him and sat in the car and scribbled notes to try to come up with a cohesive plan from the song from the disjointed work he’d been doing over the past few days. He was cringing at a wobbly note over the bridge when Kylie slid into the car and said, “What is _this_?” and thrust her phone in his face.

 

Patrick blinked and moved his face away so he could focus on the video that was playing, which was he and Matt, singing _Luck_ together in perfect harmony at the hotel that day: “It feels like we’re holding hands and jumping off a cliff, but we’re caught in the wind and we’ll never have to land and, baby, this is bliss.”

 

“Oh,” said Patrick. “We might have had a bit of a concert.”

 

“ _Dad_ ,” complained Kylie, slumping into the front seat. “That’s _embarrassing_.”

 

“Is it?” asked Patrick, surprised.

 

“It was all over school.”

 

“You’re not supposed to have your phones at school.”

 

Kylie gave him a you’re-hopelessly-naïve look. “And you were there _singing_.”

 

“Everyone agreed to the tour,” Patrick pointed out. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time singing.”

 

“That was over the _summer_ ,” said Kylie. “I didn’t know it was going to affect my life _now_.” Kylie huffed out a breath and swept her hair carefully to one side, then said, “So how’s Matt?”

 

“Good,” said Patrick. “He’s watching Adam for me. And how are your complicated boy situations?”

 

“Fine,” said Kylie, all studied nonchalance.

 

Patrick managed to resist ruffling Kylie’s hair, which he knew Kylie now considered herself much too old for, and Hailey and Miranda tumbled happily into the back of the car.

 

“Dad!” exclaimed Miranda. “You’re basically a celebrity!”

 

“I’ve always been a celebrity,” said Patrick, a little bemused.

 

“It’s not fair,” said Hailey. “How come you get to just hang around all day with Matt having fun?”

 

“Because I’m old,” said Patrick, as he started the car. “It’s one of the few perks of being old.”

 

“The filming of that whole concert was trash,” announced Miranda.

 

“That’s a little harsh,” said Patrick. “They were just people filming on their cell phones.”

 

“Cell phones can take excellent videos these days,” Miranda said. “You just have to keep them _still_.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “Well, I didn’t critique my audience’s phone-holding abilities. How was school?”

 

“Fine,” they said in perfect unison.

 

“Can you not have any more concerts until it’s summertime?” asked Hailey.

 

“And make sure that Anna’s the only one who can film them?” added Miranda.

 

“You’re all very demanding,” said Patrick. “You should probably get a lawyer to negotiate terms for the tour on your behalf.”

 

“We should definitely have a seat at the table,” remarked Kylie.

 

“The kids’ table,” said Patrick.

 

“Ha ha hilarious,” said Kylie.

 

Patrick smiled. “Do I get any more details on what happened at school? Anything at all?”

 

“School is super boring,” Kylie said. “It’s certainly no _spontaneous concert_.” Kylie pressed play on the video on her phone, and Patrick could hear himself playing the opening manic chords of _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.

 

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

 

“They all know the song,” Miranda said. “They sing it with you.”

 

“It was a hit,” said Patrick.

 

“You always made it sound like you didn’t _really_ have hits,” Miranda accused. “You made it sound like you were, like, a fake rock star.”

 

“I was a fake rock star,” said Patrick. “Look at me. Do I look anything like a rock star?”

 

“No,” said Hailey. “But we could probably do something different with your hair. Matt has nice hair.”

 

“Matt looks like he never combs his hair.”

 

“That’s all an act,” said Kylie. “I bet he spends forever on his hair.”

 

“That’s true,” said Patrick, as he pulled up in front of their house. His phone rang just as he put the car into park, and he glanced at it and saw that it flashed _Rachel_ at him and thought of Matt having some kind of bad encounter with Rachel earlier that day. “I’ve got to take this,” Patrick decided.

 

His kids were not at all interested and went dashing in the house.

 

Patrick took a deep breath and answered his phone. “Hello?”

 

“Are you with Matt?” said Rachel.

 

“Not really,” said Patrick. “Why?”

 

“He’s not answering his phone.”

 

“In my experience he doesn’t really do that. He’s really, really bad with his phone.”

 

“Right. And because there’s footage of the two of you giving a concert together _all_ over the internet, I assumed that maybe you were in the same place.”

 

“I can get Matt for you,” Patrick said, “but look. He feels like he got off on the wrong foot with you.”

 

“Maybe I have the wrong impression of Matt,” said Rachel reasonably. “He seems very demanding and self-centered.”

 

Patrick considered, then said truthfully, “No, you’re not wrong, but that’s all… He’s not like that all the time.”

 

“I think he’s just not like that all the time with _you_ ,” said Rachel.

 

Which might also be true, Patrick was willing to allow. “I can talk to him for you.”

 

Rachel sighed. “So you’re going to make him make you play intermediary in all of his personal relationships? In the same way that today two grown women asked me if I could take a keen interest in his sex life to make sure he didn’t mess that up? Like, at some point, do you think maybe Matt should grow up and fight his own battles?”

 

And that was all completely reasonable, and Patrick knew it. Patrick knew that Matt was greatly spoiled by the people around him. Patrick had written an _entire song_ about Matt’s ability to get everyone to eat out of the palm of his hand and do all manner of ridiculous things. But Patrick also knew the Matt who was uncertain and hated to show it, who sang while wearing sunglasses because he was wary of how much his eyes revealed, who went and hid in music because sometimes being yourself was just too much. And Patrick said, more sharply than he’d intended, “Yeah. I made him grow up. I left him to fight his own battles for the last fifteen years. I’m okay with helping him now, and that really isn’t a judgment you get to make, anyway.”

 

Rachel was silent for a second. “No. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_. I don’t know why I—Sorry. He just… He asked me to look into a place for Swan to play a spontaneous gig and I don’t even know if he still wants it now that the two of you have gone viral, he seems to have taken matters into his own hands, so can you just… Can you just ask him what he wants?”

 

Patrick snorted. “What Matt wants is always a very complicated question.”

 

“Is it really? Because from where I’m sitting the answer is always: You.”

 

“That’s…” Patrick actually couldn’t think of anything to say, because maybe that was true. It made his entire world tilt on his axis. Because Matt had, for as long as Patrick had known him, always been chasing a very particular ideal of fame and fortune that only Matt knew would satisfy him, and Patrick had always felt like the sidekick on that journey. But he thought of Matt in the car that day, saying that Patrick had been the plan for his _life_ , and reconsidered his perspective.

 

“Anyway, just let me know what you want to do. As Matt is always reminding me, you’re paying me a lot of money to be at your command.”

 

Rachel hung up without seeming to expect more from Patrick, which was good, because Patrick was momentarily too stunned to move. Eventually, Patrick got himself out of the car and into the house, where Matt and all of Patrick’s kids and Bach the puppy were having the loudest conversation he’d ever heard. They couldn’t possibly be understanding each other.

 

Matt wasn’t actually talking. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cacophony and listening, and Patrick stared at him and thought that half the time Matt was a selfish brat who Patrick found himself constantly wanting to knock down several pegs and the other half of the time Matt was so fragile, vulnerable, and precious that Patrick wanted to wrap him up and stand guard between him and the rest of the world.

 

 _And that’s why you love him_ , Patrick thought with unerring honesty. Matt in his fierce and unpredictable contradictions was what Patrick had always wanted. Ashley, so straightforward when he had first married her in his desire to just make things work, had actually _bored_ him, he saw now. And Matt had been right in his self-assured assessment that Patrick and Rachel would never have worked. Patrick wanted someone who infuriated him one moment and melted him the next, someone he needed to strategize against to predict the tumbling logic of his brain and also someone that would sometimes just uncomplicatedly want that brain shut off. Patrick wanted Matt, and there had always only been one of him in the universe.

 

Bach came running up to him, barking, and Patrick, realizing that his presence was given away, said, “What is all this noise?”

 

“We’re telling Matt about our days at school,” said Hailey happily.

 

“How is Matt supposed to understand you if you all talk at once?” asked Patrick. And then, “Hang on, why does _Matt_ get to hear about your days at school, _I_ never get to hear about your days at school.”

 

“Matt has such good advice,” said Miranda seriously.

 

 _Seriously_. As if Matt gave good advice.

 

Patrick blinked at her in alarm. “Oh, no. No, he doesn’t have good advice. What did he tell you?”

 

“He made us promise not to tell,” said Hailey, practically bouncing with glee.

 

“Secrets?” said Patrick. “You think any of you can keep secrets from me?”

 

All three of his girls nodded with a calm confidence that worried him.

 

Patrick said, “Actually, alarmingly, I believe you three. But you’re all in trouble, because you know who _can’t_ keep a secret from me?”

 

“Who?” they asked in unison.

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, grinning, as he rescued Adam from eating one of the dog’s toys.

 

Matt rolled his eyes.

 

The girls said Matt’s name in a variety of scolding tones.

 

Matt said, “He’s exaggerating. I can absolutely keep a secret from him.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Patrick, and opened the refrigerator as if food might have magically transported itself in there. “We’ll test that later.”

 

“How?” asked Hailey.

 

“We need to change the subject,” said Kylie.

 

Patrick gave her a look and said, “Tickling. He’s severely ticklish.”

 

“Another lie,” said Matt.

 

“Whose turn is it to pick a delivery place?” asked Patrick, and held up the selection of menus.

 

This provoked an instantaneous predictable squabble over whose turn it was, and Patrick looked across at Matt and winked and mouthed, _Later_.

 

Matt stuck his tongue out at him.

 

***

 

Patrick’s house was tightly controlled chaos, and Matt was wondering if there was going to come a time when he would get used to it. When it wouldn’t feel like a rush of noise and energy akin to a concert. No wonder Patrick hadn’t really missed performing.

 

For all of the chaos, though, it had a smooth chorography to it, a sense of routine that Matt recognized as Patrick’s touch, because Patrick was good at taming chaos, good at keeping the concert moving, good at making life on a tour bus feel like something that could have been called home. So the fact that Patrick was simultaneously bathing Adam and checking Miranda’s math and listening to Hailey read out loud seemed just…natural to Matt.

 

Kylie was on the couch, curled up with a book of her own. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , which she had to read for school. Matt was a little surprised she hadn’t retreated to her bedroom yet, although maybe she hadn’t expected him to flee the scene in the bathroom, but the scene in the bathroom had been intense.

 

“Sorry,” said Matt, spotting her there. “I can…not intrude, if you’d prefer.”

 

“It’s fine,” said Kylie, with a mock casualness that didn’t fool Matt for a second. Matt knew his way around some mock casualness. Kylie wanted him crashing here, Kylie wanted to talk to him about something.

 

“Okay,” he said, and moved her into the room.

 

“You can play if you want,” said Kylie, still with that studied nonchalance, not looking up from her book. “That’s probably why you came in here.”

 

Matt hadn’t thought about it, but playing seemed like a good idea. He sat at the piano and said, “Any requests?”

 

Kylie finally sat up and put the book aside, giving him the benefit of some interest in the conversation. “What’s the song you and Dad sang together today?”

 

“ _Luck_ ,” Matt said, and played a simplified version of the intro.

 

“What’s the song my dad sang today?” asked Kylie, with an edge of knowledge to her voice, because yes, it didn’t surprise Matt at all that Kylie had immediately picked up on who that song was about. It was the worst-kept secret in music that Patrick Reed’s angry song about his feckless lover was directed at Matt Usher.

 

“That,” said Matt, watching his fingers play a more embellished version of the _Luck_ intro now, “is your father’s song.”

 

“You don’t sing it?”

 

“Never,” said Matt, and stopped playing and looked at Kylie, because, fuck it, when someone was going roundabout at you, sometimes the best approach was head-on. “Do you just want to ask me what you want to ask me?”

 

Kylie looked at him for a long moment, her father’s gray-green eyes steady and thoughtful and young, so much younger. “No,” she said finally. “Because I don’t think I know. I don’t think it’s an easy question.”

 

Matt sighed. “No. It’s not. You’re right about that.”

 

“It’s just all a lot more confusing than I thought it was supposed to be.”

 

“Your dad and me?”

 

“No. Not really. _Everything_.”

 

Matt regarded her thoughtfully, remembering Patrick saying something about a boy issue at some point over the past few days. Then he got up from the piano and settled opposite her on the couch. “I’m the worst person to ask for advice on anything, so I’m probably the person you’ll feel most comfortable talking to about whatever’s going on, so hit me with it.”

 

“It’s not a big thing. It’s just stupid. It’s just…boys are stupid. They make you feel like maybe you’re something special and then you realize they said the same thing to Honora Diaz.”

 

“They’re not all like that,” Matt said.

 

Kylie looked down at the book in her hands, flipping through the pages absently. “And all day that video of you and Dad was everywhere and that song Dad was singing, about packing up and leaving, I kept thinking…he was singing it but it was my mom who was the one who left. My dad _never_ leaves. I’ve never seen my dad abandon anything. Even when things were rough with Mom, and things were _rough_ with Mom…I don’t think of him as the one who leaves.” Kylie looked back over at Matt.

 

“Oh, so that’s the question, is it?” asked Matt. “What did I do that could make your _dad_ pack up and leave? You don’t think the song answers it?”

 

Kylie said, “That song is angry. That song doesn’t even sound like my dad.”

 

Matt was silent for a long moment. In the bathroom, Hailey was still steadily reading over Adam squawking and Miranda asking Patrick something about long division. He said honestly, “I made him angry. I’m going to strive not to do it again. But the thing is…we make each other angry because we also make each other happy. That probably doesn’t make any sense. But I swear it’s true. We just have to hit the right balance.”

 

“That’s what I mean. It’s confusing. Boys are stupid.”

 

“I’m not going to argue with you. If it’s any consolation, I think most of them are a lot better than me.”

 

Kylie laughed. “Oh, I don’t think my dad agrees with that statement at all.”

 

“That’s because I’ve bewitched him,” said Matt.

 

Kylie laughed again.

 

“You think I’m joking,” said Matt.

 

“If you can do magic,” Kylie said, “can you do useful magic?”

 

“If I could do magic, I’d put some curtains up over your damn windows,” said Matt, and Kylie laughed again. And Matt said, “You know. About your dad. Your mom left him, yeah, but it’s your dad who packed all of your things and moved you across the country. That’s the part of your dad that you already understand: He doesn’t leave unless he already feels left. I think I already made him feel left. I didn’t mean to. That’s what I’m going to work on. And I know that I sort of swooped in on whatever was going on with Rachel—”

 

“Nothing was going on with Rachel,” Kylie said. “Not really. We wanted there to be, because we thought that would be nice for him. We just want him to be happy. We just want him to laugh. We make him laugh. You also make him laugh. So you can stay. You’re not bad to have around.” Kylie paused, and Matt felt like this was very high praise. Then she said, “So, do you have advice about dealing with my boy issue?”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “Find a new boy. That one’s not one you want.”

 

“Right, but what if I thought he was?”

 

“The only advice I have for that is to write a song.”

 

“I don’t write songs.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt thoughtfully. “Art, then. You should put it in your art.”

 

Kylie considered. “Actually, that’s a really good idea.”

 

“I have a lot of really good ideas.”

 

“No, no,” said Patrick, coming into the room, sounding alarmed. “You have no ideas. Why is it every time I leave you alone with my children, they ask you for advice?” Patrick looked at Kylie. “You never ask _me_ for advice.”

 

“Matt’s the lead singer,” said Kylie lightly. “His advice is better.” And then she grinned, because clearly she couldn’t resist teasing her father.

 

“Hilarious,” said Patrick.

 

“Maybe I should have an advice column,” said Matt. “Ask the Lead Singer.”

 

“Bad idea. Terrible idea,” said Patrick, doing something in the kitchen.

 

“I mean, basically my role on ‘Who Can Sing the Best?’ was giving advice.”

 

Miranda and Hailey, coming back into the room, gasped at the same time as Kylie.

 

“What?” Matt asked, looking between all of them.

 

Patrick came out of the kitchen with a bowl of grapes, because that was the kind of snack Patrick offered these days apparently.

 

“We should watch Matt’s show!” Kylie exclaimed.

 

“Yes!” said Miranda, and “Please!” said Kylie.

 

“Oh, God.” Patrick eyed Matt suspiciously. “How terrible is this show of yours?”

 

“What?” said Matt, hotly offended. “It’s not terrible at all! It’s amazing!”

 

“Fine,” said Patrick, sighing. “Locate it with your special teenage locational internet abilities and set the whole system up.”

 

Matt grinned at Patrick and stole some grapes. “You’re going to love it.”

 

***

 

Rachel sat at her Bosendorfer and frowned at the keys. She could do this, she thought. She really could do it. Matt and Patrick had gone viral that day, playing music with an abandon that Rachel couldn’t remember ever feeling. She could do that, she thought. She could play the piano like that. She really could.

 

Except Rachel put her fingers on the keys and thought about pushing down on them, making sound come out of the piano, and then thought: But no. She hadn’t practiced. It would be horrible. It would sound horrific.

 

Carmen said, “I bet the world doesn’t end if you play it.”

 

Rachel looked up, startled, and dropped her fingers from the keys. “I thought you were outside sunbathing.”

 

Carmen shrugged and sipped the glass of sangria she was holding. “The sun was going down, the wind was picking up. I think we’re supposed to have rain tomorrow, so it’s getting cold. You could at least press a key, if you wanted.”

 

“It’s okay,” said Rachel, and stood up from the piano.

 

“We know it doesn’t explode or anything. Matt Usher plays it all the time.”

 

“God, let’s not talk about Matt Usher,” said Rachel, with a huff of annoyance.

 

“He thought you should play more.”

 

“Just because he clearly uses the piano like it’s a security blanket doesn’t mean that we all need to have a piano near us to be functioning human beings,” retorted Rachel.

 

Carmen lifted her eyebrows up dramatically and said, “All of you musicians have such complicated relationships with your instruments. It’s just strings and keys and you hit them a certain way and they make sounds.”

 

Rachel couldn’t help her immediate kneejerk protest. “That is not true, they are so much more than that.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Carmen drily, her eyes knowing above the sangria she was sipping. “I’ve noticed.”

 

“I’m fine without my piano,” Rachel said. “I don’t need Matt Usher psychoanalysis.”

 

“You strongly dislike him,” remarked Carmen.

 

“I don’t have to like him. I just have to promote him.”

 

“Is this really about Patrick? Because I didn’t get the impression you were all that into Patrick.”

 

“No,” Rachel said, and shook her head. “It’s not about that, it’s—I don’t know. I don’t find him charming and cute like you do. I find him spoiled and demanding, and every time I turn around another person is finding him charming and cute. It must just be me.”

 

“It must just be Matt’s not your type,” said Carmen, and shrugged.

 

***

 

Matt sprawled on Patrick’s bed and watched the video of them performing together. He skipped the _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ bit to get to _Luck_ , to the way Patrick grinned at him as they sang, the way Patrick’s eyes only flickered between the keys and Matt’s face, never paying attention to anything else.

 

Patrick came into the bedroom and shut the door behind him and said, “I told you to kill some time while I took Bach out and locked everything up and you decided to watch footage of you singing?”

 

“Us singing,” Matt corrected him. “It takes you a long time to lock this house up. Is that because it’s actually a crumbling ruin?”

 

“Aren’t you funny?” said Patrick and took the phone out of his hand, which Matt didn’t protest because Patrick stretched out over him and that was definitely a preferable state of affairs. “Aren’t you _hilarious_?” Patrick nuzzled under Matt’s jaw, gentle and sweet.

 

Matt had no doubt they were working toward sex, but he was kind of enjoying this warm, gauzy, affectionate cuddle. He hadn’t enjoyed this enough the first time around, had always been impatient to get somewhere else, but now he was understanding how incredible it was to be _loved_ like this, to just be drenched in touch meant to make him feel special and wanted. So he threaded his fingers through the curling hair on the nape of Patrick’s neck, stroking lightly. “I am. Yes.”

 

Patrick lifted his head. “Your show wasn’t bad.”

 

“Such high praise.”

 

“You’re pretty hot on it.”

 

Matt laughed, delighted down to his toes, which he curled in glee. “Better.”

 

“So I talked to Rachel,” said Patrick.

 

“Rachel?” said Matt. “Oh, God, do we have to talk about Rachel while you’re on top of me? I thought this evening was going places.”

 

Patrick actually laughed. “It’s going places. It’s going good places. Give me a second, I’m talking a roundabout route. What is your deal with Rachel? It better not be sexual tension.”

 

“I think she’s in love with you and angry with me for stealing you,” said Matt sourly.

 

“Rachel’s not in love with me,” said Patrick, amused. “You know you’re an asshole to people who aren’t me and my kids.”

 

“I don’t do it intentionally,” Matt said. “It just _happens_.”

 

“I’m going to say a weird thing.”

 

“You’re already talking about Rachel while trying to get into my pants. What could be weirder?”

 

“I love you,” said Patrick.

 

Matt couldn’t help the fact that he preened a little bit at the statement, but he did say, “That doesn’t seem weird to me.”

 

“I love the Matt I know,” said Patrick. “Who doesn’t seem to exist for many other people. And what’s weird is I’m kind of okay with that. Like, I like that you’re this person who exists just for me, that I get the real you and everyone else gets a copy. It’s possessive and selfish and I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do.”

 

“You just… I’m just… You let me be me,” said Matt, a little breathless.

 

“Yes,” Patrick agreed. “And you’re so great. You’re so wonderful. If I’m the only one who truly gets to see it, I’m mostly okay with that. I don’t want you to unleash yourself on the world at large—”

 

“The odds of that are nonexistent,” said Matt, because he’d had years of pretending to be someone else in public, an instinctive and automatic protective mechanism. He couldn’t imagine shedding that now.

 

“Right. I get that. But if you could just be a tinier bit less of an asshole to everyone, it would make me very happy. Could we try that?”

 

Matt sighed heavily. “Because you asked me, yes. I will try that. I might be bad at it, because it’s a long-ingrained habit. But I’ll try.”

 

“I love all the parts of you,” said Patrick, smiling, and Matt tried to pretend like that wasn’t the best thing he’d ever heard in his life and he absolutely could hear that and go on functioning. “Every single absurd, ridiculous part of you.”

 

“Can we finish talking about Rachel now?” asked Matt, thoroughly breathless now.

 

“We went viral today,” said Patrick.

 

“We did,” Matt agreed.

 

“I love singing with you,” said Patrick, and caught Matt’s mouth in a kiss, and now he was getting somewhere, the kiss was open and wet and Matt wanted to drown in it. “I fucking love performing with you,” Patrick panted, and licked again and again into Matt’s mouth.

 

“Me, too,” Matt managed, pushing Patrick’s shirt up so he could get at skin.

 

“We were singing and I wanted to take you apart. Just absolutely wreck you,” said Patrick.

 

“Oh, fuck,” said Matt, and couldn’t help a full-body shudder.

 

Patrick’s voice was smug when he spoke again, and it was sexy as _fuck_ , and Matt wanted to _devour_ him. No, Matt wanted to _be devoured_. He was hot with anticipation of it. “Do you want me to take you apart?”

 

Matt nodded desperately.

 

Patrick tugged at his lower lip with his teeth and said, “Say yes.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Matt babbled, because Matt would say anything when Patrick was in this sort of mood.

 

Matt knew that, if asked to give an opinion, Patrick would say that Matt was the one who liked to draw sex out into a marathon, who wanted foreplay to last forever, who reveled in delaying gratification, and Patrick wasn’t _wrong_ , but Patrick, when he decided he wanted to beat Matt at his own game, was _so incredibly good_ at it. Patrick stripped him out of his clothes by excruciating degrees, kissing and licking and biting down Matt’s chest, a pause at nipples, a taunt at his navel, a lazy excursion along the trail of hair leading downward, until he shifted away, down Matt’s legs instead, pushing Matt’s jeans down as he went. Matt tried to breathe, and tried to just freeze everything into memory, the sure strokes and caresses of Patrick’s hands, the wet heat of his mouth that branded Matt everywhere it touched.

 

“Over,” Patrick said by Matt’s feet, and Matt obeyed without a second thought, letting Patrick start his journey back up.

 

Matt was buzzing by the time Patrick reached the back of Matt’s neck, planting a delicate kiss just below the line of his hair. Buzzing and vibrating and taking harsh breaths against the bedspread underneath him.

 

Patrick spread out and settled on him, which made Matt aware that Patrick was still completely dressed.

 

Matt turned his head to say that. “You’re still dressed.” He wished his voice had been a bit steadier.

 

Patrick, looking deliciously mussed, curved a smile at him. “We have all night, don’t we?”

 

“Fuck,” said Matt, feeling dazed by desire. He turned his face back into the bedspread.

 

Patrick rolled him over and leaned over him and brushed kisses over every inch of Matt’s face, the only part of his body he hadn’t touched yet, and Patrick’s kisses over the rest of Matt’s body had been teasing and bruising and biting and meant to tune Matt up to a high pitch, but Patrick’s kisses over Matt’s face were just _adoring_ , and it was always this blend of Patrick in bed that completely undid Matt, he couldn’t contend with it.

 

“Matt,” he murmured. “Darling. Tell me what you want.”

 

“You,” said Matt without thinking, turning his face to meet Patrick’s kisses.

 

“Yes,” said Patrick. “More. Tell me more. How do you want me?”

 

Matt knew somewhere, distantly, he was supposed to respond with some sort of sexual instruction, that that was what Patrick was asking him for, but he was completely not in control of his senses, because what he said was, “I want you forever.”

 

Which, it wasn’t like that wasn’t anything Patrick didn’t already _know_ , but it still made Patrick pause in his avalanche of kisses and draw back and wait until Matt forced his eyes open to look up at him.

 

And then Patrick just leaned down and kissed him, dark and deep, an absolute promise, and then he said, “Quiet now,” and then he stopped all of his teasing and he got to work and he just _dismantled_ Matt. Matt always wanted to know how he did it, because he could never quite connect the dots, what Patrick did with his hands and his mouth and his tongue and every so often his teeth and how Matt would find himself begging, begging, babbling, sobbing, for Patrick to let him come and Patrick would hold back and hold back and hover, letting him balance on the knife’s-edge, and half of Matt felt wildly out of control and the other half knew there was nothing to fear because Patrick was right there and Patrick had him, Patrick always _had him_ , Patrick could shove him off the cliff and somehow make it down to the bottom to catch him.

 

“Shh,” Patrick said, his hand briefly clamping over Matt’s mouth, and Matt assumed he was probably loud, if he could be aware of anything under than the clamoring razor closeness of orgasm rushing through him. “Shh,” Patrick said again, and took one of Matt’s hands out of Patrick’s hair—he had to pry his fingers from around clumps of it to do it—and pressed it over Matt’s mouth.

 

Matt took the hint, without really following why this was important to Patrick but Matt would do whatever Patrick wanted, so he covered his mouth and let it muffle his shout when he came so hard he saw stars.

 

“Jesus,” Matt wheezed years later, when he felt like he could, when his heart had slowed enough that he could catch a little bit of breath. “Fucking. Christ.”

 

“You’re welcome,” said Patrick, from somewhere next to him, sounding amused and smug.

 

Matt couldn’t take issue with that. Patrick should be smug. Matt managed, “I should make you write out the instructions for that or something. No one else has ever been able to do that.”

 

“Good,” said Patrick.

 

“Fuck,” said Matt, and opened his eyes finally and looked at Patrick. “At least you’re not still dressed.”

 

“I can’t believe you think you could keep a secret from me. You didn’t even notice me getting _undressed_. I could make you say anything to me, you know.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Matt, because it was pointless to deny it. “You’re terrifying.”

 

Patrick gave him a shark’s grin, which wasn’t the sort of grin Patrick normally had.

 

Matt said, “I’m a little worried you’re getting the short end of the sexual stick in this relationship, and that takes a lot of my pride to admit that.”

 

Patrick laughed and glanced down the front of Matt’s body and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not so short once you get it going.”

 

“Funny,” said Matt. “You’re so funny.”

 

“Trust me,” said Patrick, and now his voice was low and serious. “I don’t get the short end of the sexual stick. That was what I wanted tonight. I wanted you like that. I got what I wanted.”

 

Matt glanced down the front of Patrick’s body in mimicry of Patrick, then said, “Do you want me to take care of your particular stick for you?”

 

“I was hoping you might offer,” said Patrick.

 

Matt gathered energy enough to get Patrick onto his back and get himself settled over Patrick’s erection. “I’m going to collapse in, like, two minutes, so let’s focus really hard on coming as quickly as possible, okay?”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick, “I can’t believe you were worried I might be getting the short end of the sexual stick.”

 

“Shut up,” said Matt, and swallowed him down, and used every trick he had in his book, and then some, and luckily Patrick had been close anyway because Patrick really had turned himself impossibly on while ravishing Matt. “Good,” Matt said in satisfaction, sitting back and watching Patrick, sweaty and disheveled, gasp for breath. “Good job being in a hurry,” he said, and leaned over Patrick and kissed him.

 

Patrick kissed him back automatically but also uncoordinatedly, and Matt felt a little better about not being the short end of the sexual stick.

 

Then he collapsed to the side next to Patrick. “Okay,” he croaked into the pillow. “I need to sleep for, like, a thousand years.”

 

“Tell that to Adam, who’s going to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, no,” said Matt. “You’re going to explain to your kids how you sexually destroyed me and that’s why I can’t do anything tomorrow.”

 

Patrick laughed, still breathless. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

 

Matt said, “Thank you. Really. I’d kind of forgotten you could _do_ that.”

 

He felt Patrick’s hand push Matt’s hair off his forehead. It was still damp with sweat. Honestly, Matt still felt a little overheated all over, but he also felt a bone-deep satisfaction which meant that he definitely wasn’t moving ever again. “You don’t need me to write out instructions,” Patrick said. “I’ll do it whenever you want me to. You won’t need someone else to do it.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, and managed a smile. “You’re so nice to me.”

 

“I’m in love with you,” said Patrick, sounding amused, and _fond_ , and, really, Matt’s favorite tone.

 

“It’s so nice,” said Matt, and fell asleep.

 

***

 

Patrick woke with a sudden start to a still-dark room, and for a moment, disoriented, he thought it must be the middle of the night, and he wasn’t sure what had woken him. Upon looking at the clock, though, he realized that it was closer to dawn than he had supposed, and he had probably woken because he was used to being woken up at dawn. Not even a dark overcast day would stop Adam from knowing exactly what ungodly hour the sun should have arrived.

 

Patrick considered going back to sleep for a few more minutes and instead found himself laying in bed, staring at Matt sleeping opposite him, his face half-turned into the pillow, his hair a horrible mess all over his head.

 

He thought of how many times yesterday Matt had been tickled over Patrick being _nice_. When Matt’s defenses were down, when Matt said the things he meant, what he was amazed by was Patrick being _nice_. There was something so simplistic about that that it made Patrick’s heart hurt. Either he had failed to realize this about Matt the first time around, and this was a new thing Matt had developed, this fixation on tiny things that Patrick thought were basically inconsequential. Matt had been lonely, Patrick thought, pushing his parade of lovers out the door because he couldn’t bear to wake up with any of them. Patrick had made him lonely, and Matt had just wanted someone _nice_.

 

Which was so stupid, in such a classic Matt way, because if Matt wanted people to be nice to him, he just had to be nice to them, but Matt would never accept such a straightforward explanation, Matt would prefer to believe that he had to trick people into being nice through some sort of cunning plan. Patrick knew Matt was most amazed that Patrick was nice to him without Matt having to scheme about it first.

 

“You have a ridiculous brain,” Patrick murmured, and leaned forward to brush a kiss over Matt’s tangled hair.

 

Matt made a happy affirmative sound but stayed fast asleep, and Patrick got out of bed to greet his day.

 

***

 

Matt woke to a silent house. Curious, he put his ear against the bedroom door, but no, completely silent. And outside it was raining hard, lashing against the window, still dark enough that Matt turned on a lamp in Patrick’s boring bedroom and looked at the time. Later than he’d expected to sleep. Only a little surprised, Matt stumbled into the bathroom and into a shower, and then, when he emerged from the shower, there was noise in the house again. Nadia’s song playing, with Patrick layering something over it.

 

“There you are,” Matt said, going out into the living area. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

 

“For a little while, no one was,” said Patrick. “I took the girls to school. You slept through everything. The girls were impressed, and very jealous. They say you get special treatment and they resent you a great deal.”

 

“Thank you for the extra sleep.”

 

“Darling, I kind of couldn’t believe you could sleep through the racket. If you could sleep through that, you must have been exhausted.”

 

“I’m very old,” Matt said, “and very sexually destroyed, and also there was a whole adrenaline high and then crash that happened yesterday. I needed my sleep. Where’s Adam?”

 

“It’s a Mrs. Honeycutt day. You missed her as well. She inquired after your whereabouts.”

 

“Did you say I was sound asleep in your bed?” Matt was genuinely curious, because he and Patrick had always had an unspoken agreement that they didn’t confirm their relationship to outsiders. They didn’t exactly _hide_ it, they just didn’t make out or reference sleeping together.

 

“I said that rock stars come and go as they please.”

 

“And this one comes a whole lot?”

 

“Ha,” said Patrick. “No. I don’t talk like that to my son’s babysitter. Good morning, by the way.”

 

“Good morning.” Matt sat on the couch and looked at Patrick by the piano and wondered what he was supposed to do now.

 

Patrick saved him by tipping his lips up in a smile and saying, “You’re looking well-rested and extremely sexually satisfied.”

 

“You’re looking very smug,” said Matt.

 

“Shouldn’t I be?”

 

“Is there coffee?” asked Matt loftily.

 

“Yes,” said Patrick, still smirking, and indicated the kitchen, which Matt supposed was invitation. There was coffee in the pot and Matt poured himself a cup and behind him Patrick said, “I have to finish Nadia’s song today.”

 

“Right,” said Matt, concentrating on his coffee. “And you can’t have me here distracting you.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, and his tone was a warning one, one that made Matt tense up a little bit. Serious Conversation was coming his way.

 

Matt braced and turned nonchalantly, sipping his coffee. “Hmm?”

 

“First, you understand that you’re distracting while you’re here, right?”

 

Matt nodded.

 

“Second, you understand that we’re about to spend this entire summer together and so maybe you should take advantage of time away from me while you can.”

 

“I had fifteen years,” Matt said sulkily, before he could stop himself.

 

“Okay, fair point. Third, Matt, look at me.”

 

Matt reluctantly looked at him.

 

“When you lie to me,” Patrick said evenly, “I know. I don’t mean that in a threatening way. I mean you’re not good at lying to me. And when you lie to me it makes me nervous. I came after you yesterday because you’d made me nervous. And I don’t want to do this with lies, Matt. They’re pointless and they just make me feel manipulated and you know I hate that. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t have anything to do—”

 

“It’s a little pathetic,” Matt cut in.

 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Patrick repeated firmly. “But anyway, you do have stuff to do, you’re just focused right now on me. Which is great. I’m not complaining. But you’re mischaracterizing yourself in your head. Lilah called me.”

 

Matt blinked. “What?”

 

“Lilah called me, because you never, ever answer your phone. It’s such a terrible habit. What did you do all this time when you didn’t have me to act as your messaging service?”

 

“I…Nothing,” said Matt. “I just didn’t get calls. Are they such a big deal?”

 

“Well, if you took calls from your manager, you would know that you have a whole list of things to do.” Patrick held it up. “Look at this list. I mean, granted, most of the things on this list are boring, especially compared to your staying here and seducing me, but they’re things for you to do.”

 

Matt, curious, came forward to take the list out of Patrick’s hand. It really was a list, and it was things like, _Approve copy for liner notes for DVD box set_ and _Okay designs for sponsored socks_.

 

“You’re sponsoring socks?” said Patrick.

 

“I forgot I agreed to that,” said Matt. “I don’t know, they wanted my name on socks.”

 

“Are you known for your socks?”

 

“I really don’t know, I don’t tend to question when people wave money in my face, and also, my understanding of these things tends to be scattered.”

 

“Because you never talk to your manager. She and I caught up. She’s so very happy for the two of us, by the way. She doesn’t think we need a babysitter. She’s sad she left you with that impression. Lilah adores you, you know. Lilah thinks the world of you. You should let Lilah in more than you do. She’s stuck with you for fifteen years.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said absently. “I know.”

 

“You have the worst understanding of yourself,” said Patrick. “You worked yourself into a panic yesterday because you decided you’d led a meaningless empty life, and you let yourself, in that state, go and take it out on Rachel, and then burrow your way into a piano.”

 

Matt looked at him.

 

Patrick lifted a knowing eyebrow. “Am I right?”

 

“It’s like you’re in my head,” Matt accused.

 

“I _am_ ,” said Patrick. “I _know_ you. Can we remember that? I _know_ you. I know you better than anyone else ever has and you really haven’t changed all that much. You’re still kind of incredibly you.”

 

“Well, so are you,” Matt grumbled, and he didn’t mind that Patrick knew him so well but he did mind when Patrick showed it off like this.

 

“Hey,” said Patrick, probably reading his disgruntlement the way he read everything else, taking Matt’s hand, tugging him closer. “No lies. If you’d just said this to me yesterday, I could have solved this for you yesterday.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt. “Yes. But then we wouldn’t have gone viral.”

 

Patrick laughed. “Okay, fine, you win on that one. Fourth.”

 

“You have a fourth point?”

 

“You should move in,” said Patrick.

 

Matt couldn’t help the fact that he startled, because he hadn’t expected that, so simple, so straightforward. “What?” he said stupidly.

 

“It’s ridiculous to make you keep paying for a room I don’t intend to let you use. Do you foresee us, in the near future, desiring sleeping apart from each other?”

 

“ _No_ ,” said Matt immediately.

 

“Right. Neither do I. And if we’re sharing a tour bus we should get used to living together. And the kids are… I talked to them this morning and they’re completely unbothered. I said, ‘What if Matt’s here pretty much all the time?’ and they said, ‘Cool,’ basically. Kylie said you can stay as long as you don’t make me feel left. What’s that all about?”

 

“Kylie and I had a heart-to-heart,” Matt said. “About _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick. “I was _angry_. I was _mad_ at you. You understand that, right?”

 

“The song’s not wrong,” said Matt.

 

“Neither is it entirely right.”

 

“You did pack your things and leave,” said Matt.

 

Patrick was silent for a beat. “Well. You didn’t have a trick up your sleeve.”

 

“She said it didn’t sound like you. Leaving. She couldn’t understand how horrible I must have been, because you’re not the one who leaves.”

 

Patrick took a deep breath, and Matt wasn’t sure what he was going to say, and Matt wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it, so Matt kept talking. “And I said, you don’t leave until you feel left. And then, boy, you do leave better than anybody I’ve ever met. But you’re not the one who walks away. You have to feel left first. I made you feel left.”

 

Patrick’s eyes were solemn on his. He took a deep breath and let it out evenly and then said, “You did. I never thought of it that way. But you made me feel like you’d already walked out.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “I know. I hadn’t. Just so you know. I wasn’t ever going to leave you. I just…took for granted that you would know that.” Matt hesitated. “I took _you_ for granted.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick, with a quick intake of breath, and he dropped Matt’s hand and turned to his piano, like he needed the distance. “Yeah, you did.”

 

Which hurt sharply, not because Matt didn’t know he’d done it but because Patrick saying it out loud like that just _hurt_ , and Patrick sounded like he was still hurt by it, too, but also, Patrick had never once made Matt, over the past few days, feel as if he was being punished for that, or had to make up for it. Patrick had just made Matt feel like he’d been missed, like Patrick had just always been waiting for Matt to turn his way and say, _Wait, you’re the best thing in my life, I should have told you before_.

 

“If I do that to you again,” Matt said, suddenly fierce, “tell me again, and I’ll listen this time.”

 

“You know.” Patrick looked up with a small smile. “That’s exactly what Lilah warned me about.”

 

“What?”

 

“She said you’ll do anything I ask, so I’d better not exploit you.”

 

“I told her you wouldn’t.”

 

“Your trust is kind of extraordinary,” said Patrick, sounding a little wonder-struck.

 

“Patrick,” said Matt helplessly, and sank down to the piano bench next to him, and pressed his face into Patrick’s neck, curling his hands into Patrick’s shirt, wanting the contact and the closeness to ground him. And it did. Patrick immediately lifted a hand up to cup the back of Matt’s head, keeping him close. “I don’t know how to do this without trusting you like that. I literally don’t know another way of living.”

 

Matt felt Patrick brush a kiss over his head. “I’ve got you. Look to your right, I’m going to be there, watching you, counting your breaths.”

 

And Matt knew it was a reference to their set-up at their concerts, but Matt also knew it was just _true_. He nodded against Patrick.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “So do you want to move in?”

 

Matt laughed and nodded again and then straightened up. “Yes. I’d love it.”

 

“Good.” Patrick threaded his hand through Matt’s hair, almost unthinkingly, like it just made sense to do it. “Let’s talk about your plan for the day.”

 

“Apparently I have a list and should call Lilah,” said Matt drily.

 

“And do you think you could talk to Rachel?”

 

“About what?”

 

“About the fact that you asked her to plan a spontaneous concert and then went and did it yourself. That’s what she called about yesterday. She wants to know if you still want one.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt. “That’s a good question. Do you want one?”

 

“You didn’t consult me about the first spontaneous concert idea,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“Because that was a last-minute scheme. I mean, a stroke of genius. But a scheme.”

 

“When are we rehearsing? We can’t just get up in front of a crowd somewhere and play music.”

 

“We just did.”

 

“We played two songs and it’s a miracle that went well. We’re lucky.”

 

“Yeah, I can’t believe our luck,” said Matt, and grinned when Patrick rolled his eyes. “Rachel’s supposed to be looking into rehearsal stuff for us, too. I really should talk to Rachel, huh?”

 

“Can you be a tinier bit less of an asshole? It would make my life easier.”

 

“I’m going to be so nice to Rachel,” said Matt happily. “I’m going to charm her.”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick. “Sometimes that’s not the best approach.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to be an angel,” Matt promised.

 

***

 

It was a dull, dreary day, the rain persistent on the windowpane, and Rachel wasn’t getting much done because Carmen hadn’t stopped complaining about the weather. A Carmen who was trapped in the house with her was a Carmen who kept stopping by to chat with her. It wasn’t conducive to work.

 

Carmen showing up in her office doorway was therefore not at all unexpected. Carmen saying, “Don’t be angry,” was, because Carmen didn’t usually lead with that.

 

Rachel lifted her eyebrows. “Angry at what?”

 

“Matt Usher’s here. I let him in.”

 

“Oh, God,” sighed Rachel.

 

“Look,” said Carmen soothingly. “Just don’t let him get you riled up. Right? Everyone else just lets him roll right off them. That’s what you have to do.”

 

Rachel considered. “You just let him roll right off you?”

 

“I mean, he doesn’t really bother me, because I think most of what he’s doing is all an outrageous act. So yeah.” Carmen shrugged. “I let him roll right off me.”

 

“You think it’s all an outrageous act?” said Rachel. “You think underneath all that bluster he’s really a sweetheart?”

 

“I think that Patrick, you know, the guy so sweet that your courtship was excruciating and who is surrounded by kids he dotes on and puppies and bouquets of flowers—I think that guy is head-over-heels for Matt. So, do you think it’s likely Patrick’s in love with an asshole, or do you think it’s likely Matt’s not like that with people he feels comfortable with?”

 

Rachel _had_ just pointed out that Patrick seemed to be the only person Matt was nice to. Maybe that _was_ because Patrick didn’t make him feel the need to lash out.

 

So Matt’s default position was to be an asshole first and adjust behavior later, Rachel thought, and at first she sighed at the absurdity of that, and then she realized that, well, maybe she’d had that tendency herself once or twice. It was easier to be prickly than let people in, and Carmen of all people knew that about Rachel, because Carmen had battered her way past Rachel’s defenses.

 

And, from the look on Carmen’s face, Carmen was well aware that she knew how right she was and that Rachel was realizing it.

 

And then the doorbell rang, before Carmen could look any more knowingly triumphant. Carmen went off to answer it.

 

“Whatever,” Rachel breathed in a bit of annoyance, but she resolved to take a deep breath and not let Matt get to her.

 

Matt came in full of wide, charming smiles. “Hello,” he said cheerfully.

 

Rachel decided to meet him smile for smile. “Hi.”

 

Matt looked a little wary at the smile but still sat confidently. And then said nothing. Just kept smiling.

 

“So?” Rachel said, to prompt him.

 

“Patrick said you were looking for me yesterday,” said Matt politely.

 

“Yes. Because you went viral yesterday.”

 

“That wasn’t entirely planned,” said Matt. “It just happened.”

 

“I get the impression that is not unusual for you,” remarked Rachel passively.

 

Matt grinned. “Not entirely.”

 

“Do you still want me to find some spontaneous gig for you to drop in on to build interest? Considering that you seem to have gone and done it yourself?” Rachel tried not to sound sour about that.

 

She must not have succeeded, because Matt said cautiously, “Again, I didn’t plan that. But, since that happened, I don’t know that we need another one. We don’t want to wear out our welcome before we really arrive.”

 

“I think that’s right,” Rachel agreed after a second. “Your way was probably even a better thing to do, because it focused attention on—and this is what I understand it to be called—Mattrick.”

 

Matt smiled a little. “Yes. Mattrick. It’s, you know, shorthand.”

 

Rachel glanced at her computer, where she’d been tracking Twitter responses. “Be still my heart,” she read. “Is Mattrick just going to show up everywhere flirting with each other again?”

 

“It was a thing,” said Matt. “We were a thing.”

 

“I’ve gathered,” said Rachel.

 

“Look,” said Matt, “Patrick has asked me if I could attempt to be somewhat less of an asshole to you.”

 

“You haven’t been that bad so far,” Rachel allowed.

 

“Good.”

 

“And it’s probably true that I, for some reason, allow you to bother me more than I should, so.” Rachel shrugged.

 

Matt grinned. “Aw, is that an I’m-sorry-for-jumping-down-your-throat-all-the-time?”

 

“It’s an I’m-sorry-for-not-spoiling-you-as-much-as-everybody-else-around-you-does.”

 

Matt laughed. “That is fair enough. We’re still going to need rehearsal space.”

 

“Yeah,” said Rachel. “I’m working on it.”

 

“Good. Okay.” Matt stood and made an expansive gesture. “I think this was a really good talk. I think probably we’re going to be really good friends.”

 

“I think probably we just will be able to work together without strangling each other.”

 

“Good enough,” agreed Matt.

 

***

 

Matt came in with flowers and fancy coffees.

 

Patrick stopped working momentarily and looked at him. He was sitting at the dining room table surrounded by his notations that he was trying to transcribe so they would be understandable to other people, and the Nadia song was blasting on constant repeat in the background.

 

“Hi,” Matt said cheerfully, and put the flowers and coffee on the table.

 

“Who are those for?”

 

“My piece on the side,” said Matt.

 

“Ah,” said Patrick. “Does your piece on the side like tulips?”

 

“Probably,” said Matt. “He used to like macchiatos.”

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick. “He still does,” and pulled the macchiato toward him. “ _What_ is all this for, I suppose I should ask?” he said as he took a sip.

 

“Nothing. I love you. They’re not an apology. Things went well with Rachel, I think. I’m in a good mood. That’s all.”

 

“Okay,” Patrick allowed, because Matt did look unclouded and sunny. It was a good look for him. Patrick was willing to bask in it, especially because the rest of the day was so dreary. “Good. I’m glad.”

 

“And I’m not going to bother you. I have a whole list in my pocket of things I’m going to do. I just wanted to say hi. And to ask you what it is you do with the upstairs of this house.”

 

“Nothing,” Patrick said. “It’s under construction. The kids have crime scene tape up there. It’s meant to be bonus space, I just haven’t gotten ‘round to it yet.”

 

“So can I use it?” asked Matt.

 

“For what?” asked Patrick. “There’s really nothing up there.”

 

“I’m going to use it as an office.”

 

“You need office space?” Patrick said. “You used to work sitting up in bed.”

 

Matt laughed. “If I worked from your bed, do you think you’d finish your song?”

 

“No,” Patrick said. “Definitely not.”

 

“Then. I got a request from you not to be distracting. I did think maybe I’d work at the place where I got us the coffees but I got recognized and not that that wasn’t lovely but it didn’t seem like a place where I’d get work done, so I’d like to use your upstairs.”

 

“You were recognized,” Patrick said. “Have you been recognized before today?”

 

“Yes, Patrick. Occasionally people still remember the ancient Matt Usher.”

 

“No, I mean, you hadn’t mentioned it before.”

 

“This town has kind of been ignoring me. I’m guessing our viral video raised our profile a bit.”

 

“Hmm,” said Patrick thoughtfully.

 

“What’s that for?”

 

“Nothing. Thinking about the kids. I don’t want people bothering the kids. I’ll have to think about this. I’ve never been a father while I was a rock star.”

 

“You’re frowning,” said Matt, and kissed him. “Please don’t frown. It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

 

“Okay.” Matt dropped a kiss on the top of his head, such a fond, sweet gesture that Patrick smiled stupidly into his macchiato. “Can I use your upstairs?”

 

“Knock yourself out,” said Patrick, and Matt whistled as he went up the stairs with his own coffee.

 

Patrick looked at his bouquet of tulips and tried not to be too sappy over it.

 

***

 

Matt actually worked. He sat with the tablet that he owned but almost never used and literally reviewed emails. After he sent Lilah his third email reply, Patrick shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “Matt, do you think that you could ever in your life _have your phone on you_?”

 

“Sorry,” Matt said, and went over to the top of the stairs and let Patrick toss it up to him.

 

“Like, seriously,” Patrick said. “You took it with you this morning. Did you deliberately take it out of your pocket and leave it down here with me _just_ so it wouldn’t be near you?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said solemnly. “That is exactly what I did.”

 

Patrick shook his head at him. “Lilah’s called you twice,” he said.

 

“Got it,” said Matt, and called her back.

 

She answered with, “And now you’re _calling_ me? You’ve answered three of my emails and you’re calling me. Christ, I’ve missed Patrick _so much_.”

 

“Stop it,” Matt said. “I’ve always been a great client. Patrick doesn’t make me a great client.”

 

“But he makes you an _even greater_ client.”

 

“Okay,” said Matt, rolling his eyes and wishing Lilah could see it. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, I was calling to verify that no one had hacked your account and it really was you working.”

 

“Ha ha,” said Matt. “Everyone’s hilarious.”

 

“Bye, Matt,” Lilah said cheerfully.

 

Matt shook his head and hung up and kept working, until Patrick came up the stairs and stood looking down at him.

 

Matt looked up at him. “You don’t have chairs up here.”

 

“I can get you one,” Patrick said. “If you like it.”

 

Matt pointed to the windows. “Your view is better from up here.”

 

“Yeah. I know. That’s why it’s under construction.”

 

“How’s your song?” asked Matt.

 

“Almost done. I can play it for you when I get back.”

 

“Get back?”

 

“I have to go pick up the girls now.”

 

“I can do that,” Matt heard himself say.

 

“What?” said Patrick.

 

“You can stay here and finish up, I can get the girls. I mean, is that allowed?”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick. “But you don’t have to.”

 

Matt shrugged and stood. “I don’t want to get too much done. I don’t want to spoil Lilah. That wouldn’t do.”

 

“God forbid,” said Patrick drily.

 

Matt kissed Patrick lightly, grinning too much to take it deeper.

 

***

 

Matt took Patrick’s car, because Patrick wanted to make sure the girls could find him.

 

Matt said, “This is extraordinarily embarrassing.”

 

Patrick said, “You don’t have to go.”

 

Matt said, “No. We’re a team. I’ll do it. I just… You should think about getting a better car.”

 

“This car is convenient.”

 

“That’s not what you should say about your car. You should say much better things about your car.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “You’re a ridiculous person.”

 

“ _You’re_ a ridiculous person,” Matt retorted.

 

Patrick smiled. “We’re a good team. I like being a team.”

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “Me, too.”

 

Then he went to get Patrick’s kids.

 

Who one by one slid into the car and said, “Hi, Matt.”

 

“Wow,” Matt said. “No one seems surprised to see me.”

 

“Dad texted us,” said Miranda. “To tell us to expect you.”

 

“In this tragic car. Don’t you think this car is tragic?”

 

“ _Tragic_ ,” Kylie agreed.

 

Miranda shrugged.

 

Hailey said, “I like this car.”

 

Matt smiled and started driving and said, “Okay. I had an ulterior motive for this.”

 

“Hmm,” said Kylie.

 

“Let’s talk about fame and fortune,” said Matt.

 

“Fame and fortune?” echoed Miranda.

 

“You’ve lived your entire lives with a dad who wasn’t a rock star. He’s about to become a rock star again. He downplays it. But yesterday we went viral, and that’s probably just going to be the beginning. So. He’s worried about how it’s going to affect you, and I’ve got you three figured out.” Matt tried to glance at all of them knowingly.

 

“What does that mean?” asked Kylie.

 

“You’re going to tell your dad anything you think he might want to hear, because you three are engaged in a concerted effort to make him the happiest father on the entire planet.”

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

Then Kylie said, “We don’t just tell him what he wants to hear.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Matt, and lifted a dubious eyebrow at Kylie.

 

“I mean,” said Miranda, “if we thought you were horrible, we’d tell him.”

 

“Thanks,” said Matt. “I’m glad you don’t think I’m horrible. But that shouldn’t be your evaluation of me, and I know you know your dad would be appalled if he knew that. He wants you to not have to live with someone who the best you can say about is, ‘He’s not horrible.’”

 

“You’re great, Matt,” said Hailey earnestly. “It’s fine.”

 

“I showed up here and suddenly your father’s a rock star. So tell me. How horrible has it been at school and what can I do?”

 

There was silence.

 

Matt took a wrong turn to make the drive longer. “I won’t tell your dad. You and I can be in the secret Make Patrick Reed Happy Club together.”

 

“You can’t keep secrets from him,” Hailey pointed out dubiously.

 

“He won’t even know to _ask_ me about this secret.”

 

“It hasn’t been bad,” said Hailey.

 

“It hasn’t been terrible,” said Miranda.

 

Matt looked at Kylie.

 

“Okay,” Kylie said. “It sucks.”

 

“There it is,” Matt said. “So I thought.”

 

“It’s fine,” Hailey said, and shrugged.

 

“Yeah, maybe for you,” retorted Kylie. “You’re in the fifth grade, you’re basically still a baby.”

 

Hailey made an offended sound.

 

Kylie talked over her. “Try being in eighth grade, okay? Suddenly I’m, like, the center of attention, and that’s not what I wanted. I was doing really well flying under the radar.”

 

“Christ, are you like your father,” murmured Matt under his breath, circling them around the block again.

 

“What?” said Kylie.

 

“Nothing,” said Matt.

 

“Look, just because Kylie’s upset,” Miranda said, “I don’t want her to ruin it for the rest of us. I really want to go out on tour with Anna Jin.”

 

“I want to go out on tour, too!” protested Kylie. “Before this Dad was going to make us go to _summer camp_. This is clearly way, way better. I just didn’t know it was going to be about _me_.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “It was bad timing. What can we do to make it better?”

 

“I don’t know,” grumbled Kylie. “Not catch anyone’s attention?”

 

“I still don’t get what the big deal is,” said Hailey.

 

Matt said, “I’m going to tell you what the key is to having a lot of people talking about you.”

 

“You _like_ being the center of attention, though,” Kylie pointed out.

 

“I like controlling that, though,” said Matt. “There are lines and boundaries and the key to it all is that the person they’re all talking about, the person who’s suddenly the center of attention, that isn’t really _you_. You’re someone else entirely. You know that. The person they’re talking about doesn’t feel like you because it’s not. So the key to the whole thing is to remember it’s not you. It’s someone very like you. But you’re safe and sound in your own head. And you’re especially safe and sound _here_ , with people who love you.”

 

Kylie was thoughtful for a moment. “That doesn’t sound easy.”

 

“Indeed,” agreed Matt affably. “But I don’t know another way to do it.”

 

“Can you try, Kylie?” Hailey asked. “I really want to go out on tour.”

 

“Yeah,” said Kylie. “I mean, it’s not… No one’s being mean or anything, it’s just not what I expected.”

 

And, thought Matt, when you were thirteen, anything unexpected was the end of the world. “How many more weeks of school do you have?” asked Matt.

 

“Three,” said Kylie.

 

“Okay. Three weeks. We can definitely get you through three weeks. And I’ll try to make sure we keep a low profile in the meantime.” Matt glanced over at her. “Deal?”

 

She nodded. “Deal.”

 

“Good. We’re all good?” He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Miranda and Hailey.

 

“Good,” they chorused.

 

“Good,” said Matt, and finally let himself pull into the driveway.

 

Miranda and Hailey tumbled out of the car. Kylie looked at him and said, “You just got a lot of bonus points there.”

 

“Oh, good,” said Matt, “I’m trying to get an A+ grade.”

 

Kylie grinned at him and led the way into the house.

 

Where Patrick was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. He glanced at the clock and said suspiciously, “You took a long time.”

 

“Picking up kids at school is very complex,” said Matt. “You should have warned me.”

 

“What happened?” Patrick asked, sounding alarmed and looking at the kids. Matt had the impression he was counting them.

 

“Nothing,” Matt laughed. “I wanted to give you time to finish your song. Did you finish?”

 

“Yes. Sent it off and everything. It’s up on the computer, if you want to listen to it.”

 

Matt definitely wanted to listen to it. He went over and pressed play on Nadia’s song.

 

Patrick said to the girls, “How was school? Please don’t tell me that you already told Matt all about it and I don’t get to hear any of the gossip.”

 

“Nothing happened,” said Miranda.

 

“It was super boring as usual,” agreed Hailey.

 

Patrick sighed. “You’re all terrible to talk to. Kylie, what about you?”

 

“Hunter Rizzo tried to bring his potbellied pig to school with him,” Kylie said.

 

“Oh,” said Patrick, pleased. “Finally! Something to talk about! Tell me the story.”

 

Kylie shrugged. “They wouldn’t let him.”

 

Patrick sighed again, and Matt couldn’t help but laugh. “The song is good.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“It’s great. Nadia should love it.”

 

“Hopefully. I told Brie not to send me anything else to do, since we’ve got a whole tour coming up or something.”

 

“Hello,” said Mrs. Honeycutt, by the door standing open to the patio. And then she saw Matt and said, “Oh. Mr. Usher. No one told me you would be here today.”

 

“Please,” said Matt, curling a smile at her. “Call me Matt.”

 

Mrs. Honeycutt blushed prettily and Patrick rolled his eyes and Matt grinned at him and also went to take Adam out of Mrs. Honeycutt’s arms.

 

“I,” Matt told her grandly, “am going to be here basically all the time now.”

 

Mrs. Honeycutt looked rapturously happy.

 

***

 

“I can probably wash dishes,” Matt offered after dinner.

 

“Really?” said Patrick. “Can you? Have you ever washed dishes?”

 

“It can’t possibly be that hard.”

 

“Miranda’s going to dry, because it’s her turn. Kylie’s going to do homework. Hailey’s going to come read to me while I give Adam his bath.” Patrick delivered the instructions calmly, and the kids didn’t protest, dispersing into their various roles, and Matt sat for a second at the table, looking at the machinery of the house all around him.

 

Patrick, looking at him quizzically, said, “Are you okay?”

 

Matt gave him a smile he was sure was dazzling. “Today,” he said, “was _such_ a good day.”

 

Patrick smiled back. “It was,” he said, and went off into the bathroom with Adam.

 

Matt went to work on the dishes, and Miranda kept him company by telling him all about the many different types of edible seaweed that existed.

 

“You know a lot about a lot of different things,” Matt remarked.

 

“I like learning,” said Miranda, with a little shrug.

 

And then the doorbell rang.

 

“Matt?” Patrick’s voice called. “Can you grab that?”

 

“Sure,” Matt called back, drying his hands on the nearest towel. “Who could it be? Do you get a lot of visitors?”

 

“One night this random rock star showed up at our door,” said Kylie from the table where she was doing homework.

 

“Funny,” Matt said, and opened the door on…another random rock star. “Anna,” he said, absolutely stunned to see her standing there, pixie petite, dressed entirely in leather, with her hair cropped short and shocking pink. She looked exactly the same as the last time he’d seen her.

 

Anna gave him her slow, wide smile that always made him feel like she knew so much better than him. “Matt Usher, Jesus Christ, are you already _living_ here?”

 

“Kind of,” Matt admitted.

 

“Attaboy,” said Anna, grinning, and then wrapped him up in a bear hug out of all proportion to her tiny size. “God, it’s good to see you.”

 

“It’s good to see _you_ ,” said Matt, and he was surprised how much he meant it. He hugged her back more tightly than he thought Anna quite expected, and his voice was a little rough.

 

“You idiot,” Anna said after a second, in a low chiding voice. “You broke up with Patrick. You didn’t break up with us.”

 

“I know,” said Matt. It had been a stupid and idiotic thing, to isolate himself as much as he had. But he also had felt like he couldn’t deal with Anna and David telling him how much he’d fucked up. It was easier to keep himself away from people who would tell him that.

 

“Where is your much better half?” asked Anna.

 

Matt let go of her and smiled and said, “Come with me,” and led Anna down the hall and poked his head around the bathroom doorway. “Hey,” he said to Patrick.

 

Patrick was just pulling Adam out of the bath, wrapping him in towels as Adam giggled and Patrick tickled him. Patrick glanced up. “Hey. Who was at the door?”

 

“Patrick, haven’t I been, like, the best today?”

 

“The best what?” asked Patrick drily.

 

“The best whatever,” said Matt.

 

“I suppose you’ve been particularly good today, in that no one has really called me to complain about you,” Patrick allowed, swinging Adam into his arms. “Why? Do you want some sort of gold star?”

 

“No, I just wanted Anna to hear how _really, really good_ I’ve been.”

 

“Anna?” said Patrick, and then leaned past Matt. “Anna! Idiot,” he said to Matt. “Get out of the way, let me see the more important person in this hallway. Anna.” He engulfed her in a hug that Adam tolerated.

 

“Oh, my God,” Anna said, “is this a Reed progeny? Look at the hair. He looks just like you, Patrick.”

 

“They all do,” said Matt, because it was true.

 

“This is Adam,” said Patrick. “And that’s Hailey peeking out around Matt.”

 

Because Hailey, having realized someone interesting was in the hallway, had come to see exactly who it was.

 

“Hi, Hailey,” Anna said, with that casual friendliness that she had that always made people want to talk to her.

 

“Hi,” said Hailey, and Matt could feel her small hand fisted in the back of his shirt, and suddenly Matt realized that in the hierarchy of strangers in this house, Matt was less strange than Anna, and that made him relatively safe. Safe enough that Hailey, finding her father out of range, was willing to cling to Matt for a bit of protection.

 

“Come meet the rest,” Patrick said, walking down the hallway, and Matt stood for a moment, with Hailey’s hand in the back of his shirt, feeling floored with the impact of just…everything, how much his life had changed in just a few days, that now he had Patrick, and, kind of, _kids_. And it was _wonderful_.

 

Hailey slipped past him as if nothing momentous had happened, eager to join in on the introductions going on in the other room, and Matt could hear Miranda saying, “You don’t understand, we watch _all_ your movies,” and Anna said, “Even the one on genital mutilation?” and Miranda said, “Dad says we need to know about the world,” and then Patrick appeared in the hallway, heading toward him.

 

“Hey. I have to get Adam ready for bed. You okay?” Patrick tipped his head at him, and Matt knew he must look odd, frozen in place here.

 

Matt nodded.

 

“Hmm,” said Patrick thoughtfully.

 

“It’s just a lot,” Matt said.

 

Patrick smiled. “The way you’ve curled back into that same old spot?”

 

“The way you make me feel like we could have a shot,” said Matt. 

 

***

 

Patrick let Miranda ask as many questions of Anna as he dared, before saying, “Okay. Enough. Anna’s probably exhausted and didn’t come all this way to be interrogated.”

 

“It’s not an interrogation,” said Anna, smiling at Miranda. “It’s fine.”

 

“It’s also way past bedtime. Way, way past it. Everyone to bed.”

 

Anna looked at Matt and said, “Do you have a bedtime, too?”

 

Matt grinned and said, “Patrick puts me to bed later.”

 

“Gross,” said Kylie, on her way out the door.

 

Patrick gave Matt a bit of a look, but he didn’t even know what he meant by it, because Matt had seemed off in the hallway after Anna’s arrival and Patrick was still trying to figure out what was going on with him.

 

Patrick supervised bed as usual and checked to make sure that everyone was good, with everything, but Hailey and Miranda were off-the-walls excited and Kylie just said, “Matt’s joined our club,” and Patrick said, “What club?” and Kylie grinned and said, “It’s a secret.”

 

Patrick, shaking his head, rejoined Anna and Matt in the living room, where Anna was saying, “No, no, you don’t get it, the elephant, like, was _in love with me_.”

 

“I cannot even imagine what this story is about,” said Patrick, and found the wine Matt had brought for dinner days ago and poured it out.

 

“Anna’s lived quite the life while we’ve been off being boring,” said Matt, accepting the glass of wine Patrick handed him.

 

“Oh, please,” said Anna. “Look at you two.” Patrick sat next to Matt and Anna looked between them and said, “No, seriously, _look_ at you two.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “We’re uncommonly attractive, thanks for noticing.”

 

“Asshole,” said Anna, and flung a pillow at Matt’s head.

 

“Please let’s not get wine on the couch,” said Patrick.

 

“Anna,” said Matt, “Patrick is renovating this whole house himself. What do you think about that?”

 

“Ambitious,” said Anna, sipping her wine. “When did you learn how to do renovations?”

 

“I didn’t,” said Patrick. “I’m learning as I go along.”

 

“That seems practical,” Anna agreed.

 

“Thank you,” said Patrick.

 

“She’s being sarcastic,” Matt said.

 

“I’m being sarcastic,” Anna said.

 

Patrick shook his head at the two of them. “Where’s your brother? This ganging up on me will never do.”

 

“He’s like you. Got to get kids in order. Whereas I finished up the shooting I was doing and thought I’d come here to crash. Do you mind?”

 

“Anna.” Patrick smiled at her warmly. “Never. You could have come anytime. You _should_ have come anytime.”

 

Anna wrinkled her nose. Anna had always had the most expressive face. You always knew where you stood with Anna. “Ashley didn’t like me very much.”

 

“Ashley wasn’t around much,” said Patrick, before he could stop himself, because that was more than he’d really intended to say, it was more than he’d really truly shared with Matt.

 

But nobody seemed surprised.

 

Anna snorted and said, “That seems pretty obvious. But the kids are great, Trick. Your kids are great.”

 

“We’re not doing the ‘trick’ thing,” said Patrick, shaking his head. “It’s taken me fifteen years but I’ve shaken that nickname.”

 

“You can’t just go by Patrick,” said Matt. “It’s so boring.”

 

“Please, please, let’s have Lilah come give us another course on branding,” said Anna. “That was so much fun the first time around.”

 

“Christ,” Patrick laughed, remembering. “I thought she was going to kill the two of you.”

 

“Whenever you showed up with that fake tattoo on your face and told her it was going to be your new brand,” said Matt, laughing as well.

 

“A hamburger swallowing a hot dog,” said Anna nostalgically. “It was a statement about gender.”

 

“The fact that you literally went and designed a very particular fake tattoo,” said Patrick. “It was such commitment.”

 

“Hey, if you’re going to make a joke, commit to it all the way,” said Anna. “And it was so worth it for Lilah’s face.”

 

“She would have spun it, though,” Matt said. “Lilah’s the best.”

 

“Are you still with Lilah?” asked Anna.

 

“Matt is still with Lilah, such that he ignores her calls all day,” said Patrick.

 

“I don’t take _anyone’s_ calls,” said Matt. “What kind of rock star is accessible?”

 

“Branding,” Anna said, and tapped her nose.

 

“What’s that nose tap for?” asked Matt.

 

“It’s to emphasize branding,” Anna sad.

 

“I didn’t know if it was some universal branding signal,” said Matt.

 

“Tell me about this reunion tour. Are we going to be any good, or are we going to be terrible?”

 

“We’re going to be spectacular,” said Matt. “Obviously.”

 

“I haven’t really played the drums in years, you know. At least you two kept in practice.”

 

“I bet it’s like riding a bike. I bet you don’t forget,” said Matt.

 

“Are you two writing together?” asked Anna.

 

“Yes,” said Matt, and Patrick realized that yes: they were. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. “We’ve got a couple of things we’re working on.”

 

Anna grinned at them. “Well, that’s a proper reunion, then. You’ll have an album done by the time the tour’s over. Swan, Part Two.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Patrick, uncertain. He’d agreed to a brief tour, he hadn’t thought about…writing songs, and releasing albums, and…

 

Matt looked at him, a question in his eyes, because naturally Matt couldn’t see anything to hate in the prospect of Swan, Part Two.

 

“I guess we’ll see how the songs come out,” Patrick decided slowly.

 

Which seemed to appease Matt.

 

Anna said, “Did that person talk to you about the documentary? The one who was organizing everything. What’s her name?”

 

“Rachel,” said Patrick. “And yes. What’s that all about?”

 

“I’m going to film our reunion tour. I’m hoping you’ll agree to sit down for some interviews. I’d give you final approval before I make anything public.”

 

Matt shrugged and sipped his wine and said, “Sounds good to me.”

 

Again, Patrick thought, everything could so often be so simple for Matt, when they felt so overwhelming to Patrick sometimes. But that was what he’d warned Matt about, that was why he’d told Matt he wanted him more than anything on the planet. He wanted Matt to remember that, to keep tugging him along.

 

Patrick said, “What would the interviews be about?”

 

“Swan, of course,” said Anna. “I want to tell the definitive story of Swan. No one’s told it yet, and it should be me, don’t you think? Like, it shouldn’t be anyone else. That wouldn’t be fair. But don’t worry. I’ll do a great job. I’ll tell a great story.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick. “Of course you would. We really are devotees of your films in this house.”

 

Anna smiled, wide and sweet again. “That really is so sweet of you, Patrick, thank you.”

 

“The girls love them. Well, mostly Miranda. But the other two tolerate them. And that’s especially high praise coming from Kylie, she’s thirteen, tolerating something is a big deal for Kylie.”

 

Anna laughed. “I remember well that age. Well. Actually. I remember well _always_ having vocal opinions about things.”

 

“You’re right,” Patrick said. “I shouldn’t have singled her out that way. They all have opinions. And they should, of course. I feel like sometimes I worry more about Kylie because she’s the one I made grow up so quickly.”

 

“Kylie’s fine,” Matt said. “Kylie’s so _you_ it’s painful, and you can’t see it, because you’re also you. The two of you are stuck in a feedback loop of taking care of each other.”

 

“So that’s what you were doing driving my kids around today,” Patrick realized. “You were getting to know them better.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “It was a good opportunity for it. And that’s what I learned about Kylie. I mean, she’s thirteen and thirteen is tough but so is thirty-seven, so, I don’t know, I think she’s fine. She feels safe and taken care of and, you know, we would have killed for that at that age, you and I, so, like, good job.” Matt finished his wine, because Patrick knew he wanted some distraction from that speech, because always, always, Matt wanted a distraction after mentioning his childhood.

 

Which Anna knew, too, so Anna said, “Okay, where can I crash? Do you have a spare bedroom here?”

 

“Unfortunately, no,” said Patrick ruefully, letting Anna change the subject. “Well, it’s under construction.”

 

“Translation: It will never be done,” Matt stage-whispered.

 

Anna grinned.

 

“So I assume Matt crashes in your room, Patrick, so can I have the couch?”

 

“You can have the couch,” Patrick said, “but I’ve got to get you something better, you can’t stay on the couch the whole time. I’ll buy you a bed tomorrow.”

 

“Patrick, you don’t have to—”

 

“I should spend some of the obscene amounts of money Matt’s scheme brought my way.”

 

“The best kind of scheme is one that leaves you rich,” said Matt.

 

“We’ve got a whole empty bonus space upstairs you can have,” said Patrick.

 

“Hey,” Matt protested. “You said I could have that as an office.”

 

“I’m fickle,” said Patrick, and then, because he could, he smoothed a hand over Matt’s perpetually tousled hair and followed it with a kiss.

 

“An office?” said Anna, amused. “Since when do you need an office?”

 

“I’m being a serious adult now,” said Matt. “Also, I can’t work in bed, it’s too distracting for Patrick.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, “let me get linens.”

 

Patrick went through the linen closet to get stuff for Anna, while she changed and Matt disappeared into their bedroom, presumably to also get ready for bed. Patrick then brought sheets and pillows and blankets out and helped make up a bed for Anna.

 

“We get up at the crack of dawn in this house,” Patrick said apologetically when Anna came back into the room. “I can’t get Adam to do otherwise.”

 

“That’s fine,” said Anna. “I’m super-jetlagged anyway. I’ll probably be up and down at all weird hours. This house is great, Patrick. Your kids are great. Thanks for this.”

 

“Really, anytime,” said Patrick honestly. “It’s good to see you, Anna.” He kissed her cheek and accepted a warm hug before going to join Matt.

 

Matt was half-buried under a pile of clothes on the floor, clearly looking for something.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said, “you know how impressed I was at how neat your hotel room was?”

 

Matt emerged from his pile of clothes and looked around Patrick’s bedroom, where somehow Matt’s belongings, brought from the hotel earlier that day, had exploded. “I will make this look better tomorrow.”

 

“It’s fine,” said Patrick, and nudged at a discarded shirt fondly. “It’s very you. You might as well wait until I get tired of it before cleaning it up.”

 

Matt shrugged and stood. “Suit yourself.”

 

“You okay?” Patrick asked.

 

“Don’t I seem okay?” Matt countered.

 

“No, you do,” Patrick said honestly. “I was just checking.”

 

Matt smiled at him. “I’m great. I really am. It was a good day.”

 

“Are you in some sort of secret club with my daughters?” asked Patrick.

 

Matt grinned and then Matt pushed Patrick back onto the bed and straddled him comfortably, leaned down and pinned Patrick’s hands on either side of his head. “Hey, Patrick,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick managed, trying to pretend he wasn’t out of breath. Which was a little useless. As useless as pretending he hadn’t gotten immediately hard at Matt clambering onto him.

 

Matt ducked his head down to murmur in Patrick’s ear. “Tonight you don’t get the short end of the sexual stick.”

 

Patrick didn’t know if he laughed or he groaned. He probably did a little of both.

 

Matt said, “Quiet now,” and took him apart.

 

***

 

The morning was the usual controlled chaos that Matt really was getting used to. He made rounds of cinnamon toast for the kids and Anna upon request, and coffee for Anna and Patrick, and then cinnamon toast for Patrick when he thought it was ridiculous that Patrick was refusing to allow himself cinnamon toast. Miranda asked if she could stay home from school to hang out with Anna three times, with Patrick saying no with escalating degrees of impatience. Miranda was sulking on her way out the door and Matt said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Anna doesn’t get to do anything interesting all day,” which maybe made Miranda smile a little bit.

 

Patrick left him with Adam without even asking, as if this was just a thing they did now, and Matt made his own cinnamon toast and coffee and watched Adam watch Bach chew up one of his toys, and Anna just said, “Wow.”

 

“The house can be a lot,” Matt agreed.

 

“No, look at you,” said Anna.

 

“In the thick of it all?” said Matt, with a bit of a grimace, pouring himself more coffee.

 

“ _Happy_ ,” said Anna. “I haven’t seen that look on you in a long time.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt, and sipped his coffee. “Well. Yeah. It’s been…a while.”

 

“It’s nice to see the two of you making each other happy again. It’s like the early days all over again. It’s nice.”

 

“The early days,” Matt echoed.

 

“Yeah.” Anna sipped her own coffee. “You know, before you fell into your endless exhausting cycle of fighting and fucking.”

 

Matt stared at her over his coffee cup.

 

“Matthew,” Anna said slowly. “You’re looking as if this was news to you. You do remember how miserable you made each other by the end, don’t you?”

 

He…did, vaguely. He remembered being unhappy. He remembered Patrick saying he was unhappy. He remembered hitting a point where they didn’t banter, where they didn’t make each other smile and laugh, where they didn’t kiss each other, where Patrick stopped with his casual touches and Matt started pretending he didn’t miss them. He _remembered_ all of that, it was just…not what he was dwelling on.

 

He said, “No. I mean, I do, but…how long did we do that?”

 

“What?” said Anna.

 

“How long did we make each other miserable?”

 

Anna looked surprised. “Well, I don’t know. It was off and on, for a while. You don’t remember? The two of you were all over the place, writing all those angry songs and… Matt, I’m so confused right now. You know the two of you broke up, and it was bad enough you didn’t even speak to each other for fifteen years.”

 

“Right,” Matt said slowly, thinking. “No. I know. It was bad. We were bad for each other.”

 

“Yeah,” said Anna. “But you seem good for each other now. Matt, I didn’t mean to make you—I feel bad, I think I’ve misstepped here. You two are clearly very happy with each other. You both seem settled. It doesn’t seem the way it did before, when it was so _much_. I mean, when it was like that, it made sense that you two were all over the place. It was a lot.”

 

“It was a lot,” Matt repeated, and put his coffee down.

 

“Matt. Fuck. I’ve done this wrong.” Anna leaned toward him. “Matt. You’re fine. The two of you are fine. You’re great. You clearly love him. He clearly loves you. Let’s pretend I didn’t bring up the past, I don’t know why I did.”

 

“You want to make a _documentary_ about it,” Matt reminded her.

 

“Yeah,” said Anna. “Okay. You’re right. But I think I meant to focus on the happy ending here. It was going to be a _triumphant_ documentary. Oh, fuck.”

 

“We try not to swear in front of the baby,” Matt said dully, as Adam crawled over to him and reached for him.

 

“Matt, I didn’t mean it,” said Anna. “I didn’t mean any of it, you two are great together, you’ve always been great together.”

 

Matt, settling Adam against his hip, rolled his eyes and said, “For fuck’s sake, Anna.”

 

“I thought we didn’t swear in front of the baby,” said Anna.

 

“That’s reserved for when you’re still in a good mood about the future and not contemplating the inevitable destruction of your happiness because you let it happen once before and where the fuck’s the guarantee that it won’t happen again?”

 

“I mean,” said Anna, “ _you’re_ the guarantee. That you’re both older and wiser and committed to not doing it again. That’s your guarantee. It’s as much of a guarantee as life gets. I mean, no relationship comes _guaranteed_.”

 

Matt knew that. Matt felt like a little kid being scolded for not having internalized that.

 

Patrick came in, whistling. Patrick was fucking _whisting_ , and Matt felt like he didn’t know how to stop them, in a year’s time, from spiraling out of control into the same cycle of fighting and fucking they’d been stuck in before.

 

“Hello,” Patrick said slowly, and Matt supposed the atmosphere in the kitchen was tense. Patrick looked between them. “What happened?”

 

Matt shook his head and handed Adam over to Patrick. What he needed to do, at this very moment, was get out of this house and have a little bit of a breakdown and then he would be fine again. “I have to, um, do something very important,” he said.

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, fixing him with a look.

 

“Right,” said Matt. No lies, he remembered. “I’m going to take a walk.”

 

“A walk?” echoed Patrick.

 

“A walk on the beach,” said Matt, already pushing his way outdoors.

 

***

 

Patrick looked from the door closing behind Matt to Anna. It was another gray, dreary day, a cold front having firmly taken hold of the coast, and anyway Patrick had never known Matt to go for a walk, ever, so clearly Matt wasn’t just going for a walk.

 

Anna looked guilty.

 

Patrick was bewildered. What the hell could have happened? “Did you fight? I was gone, like, ten minutes.”

 

Anna shook her head. “No. We didn’t fight. Not really. I said he looked happy and it was good to see him happy.”

 

Patrick sighed heavily. “ _Anna_.”

 

“See? You know him. That’s how well you know him, that you know immediately why that was the wrong thing to say.”

 

“He and I, we are holding this thing together by sheer force of will. It’s like we’re balancing really carefully and we know it’s only going to work if we don’t look down.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

 

“It’s terrifying. I had half of a nervous breakdown in the supermarket.”

 

“The supermarket?” said Anna.

 

“I’m worrying every second that he and I are the love of each other’s lives and also essentially incompatible. Doesn’t that sound like exactly what the outcome of all this should be?”

 

“No,” said Anna, although she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I don’t think you’re essentially incompatible.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Patrick grimly, giving in and letting Adam have the discarded coffee spoon he’d been reaching for. “I think maybe we ought to be able to get through the first week without a series of crises over how long we can get this to last.”

 

“Do you know why you’re having so many crises?” asked Anna calmly. “Because of how much it means to you. Did you have a single crisis over Ashley? I bet you didn’t have a crisis over Ashley even when she walked out and left you with four kids.”

 

Patrick hesitated, because…Anna was right. Patrick had never had a crisis over Ashley. This fear, that he wouldn’t be able to make this work with Matt, this was a unique Matt thing.

 

Anna saw her rightness written on his face. “Yeah,” she said, satisfied. “And you know why this is? Because you _care_ about this one. The first time through, did you think for even one second you were incompatible?”

 

“No,” said Patrick. “Of course not. We were kids. We were unstoppable. We were going to take over the world together.”

 

“Right,” said Anna. “So all of this? This is a good thing. This is the two of you thinking really, really hard how you don’t make the same mistakes you did before.”

 

Patrick knew objectively that was probably true. Still, he was feeling…terrified. It was terrifying to look at Matt and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was fully happy for the first time in years, and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he didn’t know how to make sure it stayed that way.

 

“I didn’t mean to do this,” Anna said after a second. “He did look really happy. I just thought how nice it was to see him happy. To see both of you happy.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick. “It’s nice to _be_ happy.”

 

“We’re going to have a good tour,” Anna said. “I totally promise. This is going to be fine.”

 

***

 

It was fucking freezing, and Matt hadn’t thought to bring a coat because he hadn’t expected it, and the wind off the sea was wet and raw and Matt thought, _Good, this suits my melodramatic mood_.

 

Which was ridiculous, but he sat in the sand close by Patrick’s house and pulled his knees up to rest his chin on and let the sea spray hit him full in the face, closing his eyes, and _thinking_. Thinking _so hard_ about how much he wanted Patrick, and how much he wanted it to work, and how much he wanted to make sure neither of them walked away again, and how—

 

Matt opened his eyes and looked at the waves crashing toward him and thought, with a sudden blinding clarity, _We should get married_. Marriage wasn’t a guarantee, Matt knew that, too, but marriage was _more_ permanent. Marriage was the best promise of permanence Matt could get, and Matt wanted that. Marriage would take time and effort to undo, especially if they didn’t sign a prenup, if instead they let everything get intermingled and completely intertwined. Patrick had stayed married to Ashley for years and years without even caring about her; Patrick loved Matt, he would surely stay married even longer.

 

 _We should get married_ , Matt thought, in tune with the rhythm of the waves. He’d never thought about it before. They’d been kids, though, and, anyway, their relationship hadn’t seemed like that. Their relationship was never confirmed. They never denied it, but they didn’t make out in public and it was shocking how far you could go on that when you were a queer couple, how very long it took large segments of the population to see you as anything but close friends. It hadn’t been a conscious choice at first, just an idea that the falling-in-love was something that was theirs, happening behind the scenes, in stolen kisses backstage and blowjobs on the bus, and they’d wanted it to stay theirs, and then it just stretched longer and longer, the secret privacy of the whole thing, and they just…never said anything. It seemed superfluous.

 

Marriage would clearly be a confirmation of a relationship, a tremendous step, but Matt thought Patrick would like the idea, and Matt suddenly wanted it desperately. He went in the space of five minutes from never thinking about marriage to feeling an ache in his chest at the idea of Patrick standing somewhere promising to love him forever. Matt really, really wanted that promise.

 

“Hey,” said Patrick, startling him.

 

Matt looked up, so far gone in some gauzy fantasy of Patrick in a disheveled tux, sunlight on his red hair, that he couldn’t think of how he was supposed to react to this Patrick, in a sweatshirt, dampened by gray all around him.

 

“I brought you your hoodie,” Patrick said, and handed it to him. “I know how much you love it.”

 

Matt pulled it on and said, “I’m not going to turn it away, it’s _freezing_.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick, and dropped to the sand next to him. “Talk to me,” he said, and looked at him with such love in his gray-green eyes that Matt couldn’t understand why he’d panicked with Anna.

 

Matt wanted to say _Let’s get married_ and also definitely didn’t want to propose like _this_. He looked at Patrick instead.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said after a moment.

 

“Shh,” Matt said. “Just keep looking at me for a second.”

 

Patrick said slowly, “Okay,” and then did just keep looking at him.

 

“Okay,” Matt said, and nodded. “Better. That’s better. You have a nice way of looking at me.”

 

“Yes. I do a lot of nice things to you, because I’m in love with you. I would say we’ve been over this, but Anna makes me think maybe I need to say it more.”

 

Matt shook his head. “No. I don’t doubt it. I know you love me.” _I want the forever promise_ , he thought, but couldn’t ask for, because that was explicitly what Patrick had told him he needed to work toward. It was too early for that, but they would get there, and in the meantime, Matt had to stop being greedy and focus on the fact that Patrick _very clearly loved him_. “I’m okay.”

 

“You’re sitting in wet sand in the freezing cold.”

 

“So are you,” Matt pointed out.

 

“Yes,” said Patrick. “I’m mad for you. I’ll follow every absurd thing you do.”

 

Matt laughed because he couldn’t help it. Then he turned his head toward Patrick, resting his cheek against his updrawn knees. “I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

 

“Me, either,” said Patrick.

 

“I want forever,” Matt said urgently, because it was important that Patrick understand that. “I am here now wanting _forever_.”

 

Patrick nodded. “Yes. Me, too.”

 

And Matt believed it. He did. He couldn’t help that now he’d gotten the idea in his head, he wanted more and more.

 

Matt laughed again, but this time bitter and self-deprecating. “I had such a good day yesterday. I felt on top of the world. And today all of a sudden I feel like maybe I’m just doomed to watch you walk away from me again, and there’s nothing I can do—”

 

“That’s not true,” Patrick cut in swiftly. “I cannot imagine a scenario where I walk away from you again with nothing for you to do to stop that. Even the first time, Matt, there was so much you could have done—”

 

“Yeah,” Matt started, and was surprised when Patrick continued, “There was so much _I_ could have done.”

 

Matt blinked.

 

“It wasn’t just you. We both made it fall apart. I don’t want you to feel like the weight of this whole thing’s success is resting just on you. It’s on both of us. Okay? It’s on both of us.”

 

Matt, after a moment of turning this over in his head, nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure what Patrick had done wrong—for so long in his retelling of the relationship he had been focused on what he could have changed about his own behavior—but he was willing to let Patrick take some blame because he felt like he could get his head above a water with a little less weighing him down.

 

Patrick looked across at him and said suddenly, “You’re so gorgeous. I know you know that, I know you can pull up dozens of articles with odes to those eyes you have that have your whole soul in them, or the way your hair sticks up on the side and it’s so weirdly hot, or your mouth and the way it curls these smiles out at people that are just inescapable. But you’ve been here lately, and you’ve been in front of me, and those smiles have been just for me, and those eyes have been all mine, and I’ve had my hands in that hair, and you’ve been funny, and sweet, and you’ve said ‘I love you’ in a thousand different ways, and I feel like I did the first time I was falling for you, like all I want to do is just sit back and _enjoy_ you and the way you make me feel. That’s all I want to do, is just enjoy you and this moment because I didn’t think I’d ever _see_ you again, never mind—Which is just me saying that if we let it, this worry will eat at us until there’s nothing left, because what we are isn’t worry, it’s joy and laughter and _wanting_ and _choosing_ , I think we just have to keep choosing. And it’s fucking terrifying but you terrified me the day I met you, that rosy-glow future you painted, that look you had about you that made me think if I let you you’d change my fucking life and I’d never get free of you and I—I haven’t been terrified in such a long time, because I haven’t had anything worthwhile in front of me to be terrified of. It’s you, Matt. It’s just you. It’s always been you. It always will be you. We’re not going to fuck this up, because we’re going to remember that.”

 

Matt stared at him. His hands were frozen, cold and wet, around his knees, and his lips were parted in shock, and when he licked them he could taste the salt on them.

 

Patrick said, “Matt?”

 

Matt took a strangled breath. “That was…”

 

“Good?” said Patrick. “I hope?”

 

“That’s an inadequate word. I need to go inside and write you a melody, and I’ll never come up with one half as beautiful as that.”

 

“You don’t have to,” said Patrick, his voice so very gentle. “Your eyes tell me everything. All I need is for you to look at me, too. It works both ways.”

 

“Do I have a nice way of looking at you?” Matt asked, half-teasing and half because he genuinely wasn’t sure.

 

Patrick’s smile widened. “Yes. It’s very nice.”

 

“That’s because I’m in love with you,” Matt said.

 

***

 

Patrick thought everything was going better. Matt was in a better mood, plus he’d clearly completely won over the girls with whatever his speech had been driving them home from school the day before. That had been a Matt scheme, Patrick thought, the school pick-up, and he’d walked right into it without noticing it. Definitely one of Matt’s better schemes. But whatever had happened, the kids all clearly trusted Matt with an innateness that Patrick, well, understood. Matt was charming and charismatic and people all over the world loved him, and Patrick got that, but Patrick had always _trusted_ him, from the instant he’d dropped into his life with a hare-brained scheme about starting a band that would be a hit. And his kids had always seemed to like Matt, had always responded to him, but that had been the rock star in Matt, performing for them, getting them on his side. Now Patrick recognized the subtle shift in their interaction, the way in which Matt seemed more relaxed and less performative, the way in which the kids spoke to him casually and comfortably. Patrick found himself with his phone out, looking at the calendar, adding up the days in which Matt had indelibly joined their lives, smooth and effortless, and Patrick tried to imagine functioning without him, now that he’d gotten used to Matt there at breakfast, fixing coffee the way he liked it, doing last-minute tests, watching Adam during school drop-offs, playing the piano while Patrick cooked dinner and adjusting the songs he was working on according to Patrick’s suggestions.

 

They had literally never written a song while Patrick cooked before. Patrick hadn’t cooked in the old days. It weirdly worked. And the kids, who used to scatter a little for homework, stayed close by, as if the rhythm of song-writing banter in the background was comforting to them. Patrick had always thought they might be distracted by his music in the background, but he had apparently been wrong about that. Or maybe it was just that the banter was comforting to them. Patrick agreed with that. The banter _was_ comforting.

 

Anna said, “This is the most domestic house of rock stars I have ever seen,” and Matt said, “The cocaine only comes out after the kids go to bed,” and Patrick said to his girls, “There is no cocaine, drugs are very bad for you,” and Kylie rolled her eyes and Hailey said, “We _know_ , Dad,” and Miranda bothered Anna with a question about her documentary on concert hall architecture.

 

It was nice to have Anna around, too, and after her freak-out of Matt on the first day, she was careful to skirt the topic of Mattrick, which Patrick appreciated. He still felt like he and Matt were out on a tightrope, but it felt like the tightrope grew less precarious every day. Matt seemed relaxed and comfortable and yes, Anna was right, _happy_ , and Patrick felt…gratefully astonished.

 

“Not that I don’t love your new stuff,” Anna remarked on her fourth night there, after Matt had cut off his under-his-breath crooning to add another lyric, “but we should probably be rehearsing.” Anna handed Patrick the pile of mushrooms he’d asked her to chop up for his pasta sauce.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, “Rachel was supposed to be doing that. Matt.” When he got no response, he tried again. “Matthew.”

 

“Hmm?” said Matt absently. “Listen, which do you like better?” Matt played two variations of the same melody.

 

“The second one,” said Patrick.

 

“Agreed,” said Anna.

 

“Matt, what does Rachel say about rehearsal space?”

 

“I haven’t heard from Rachel,” said Matt.

 

Patrick tossed his mushrooms in his tomato sauce and said, “Uh-huh. Where’s your phone? Do you have any idea?”

 

“Our room,” said Matt, still far more focused on the song he was writing. “On its charger.”

 

 _Our room_ , thought Patrick, and tried to stir his mushrooms calmly, like his heart wasn’t going crazy in his chest. “Anna,” he said, “can you stir this for a second?”

 

“I can,” Anna said dubiously, “but I want you to know that I spent the last fifteen years in exotic locations and not learning how to cook like you did, so.”

 

“This isn’t cooking,” Patrick promised her. “It’s literally stirring tomato sauce around.” He went into his bedroom—their bedroom—pulled Matt’s phone off the charger, and tapped in his code. Then he came back out to the living room and put Matt’s phone next to him on the piano bench. “You have seven missed calls from Rachel.”

 

“She probably got us rehearsal space,” said Matt.

 

“Dad,” said Miranda, “what do you know about hypotenuses?”

 

“God save me from seventh grade math,” said Patrick, as his phone rang. He leaned over to pick it up and said, “Ah. Rachel.” And then he answered it. “Matt Usher’s answering service.”

 

Anna gave him an amused look, but Matt was testing out a series of chords and not paying attention.

 

“Yeah, he’s really, really not a phone person,” Rachel agreed.

 

“He plays the eccentric-artist card really hard when it comes to his phone. Have you gotten us rehearsal space?”

 

“Yeah,” said Rachel, “but we have something bigger to discuss.”

 

“Oh? What?” asked Patrick.

 

“Can I come by?”

 

“Um,” said Patrick, and looked at Anna stirring the pasta sauce for dinner. “We’re just about to have dinner.”

 

“I can come later,” said Rachel. “We’re going to need to have a discussion, so if we can get a kid-free time, that would work best.”

 

“You’re going to need to give me a few hours, then,” said Patrick. Kid-free times weren’t easy to get at his house. He watched Hailey slide in to sit next to Matt on the piano bench, and he half-expected Matt not to even notice, but instead Matt murmured something to her and placed his fingers carefully on the piano’s keys, and Hailey mimicked it on the keys two octaves below Matt’s. Patrick knew Rachel was coming to talk about the whirlwind tour they were about to embark on, but he suddenly didn’t want to leave this moment ever. He wanted to live exactly here for the rest of his life.

 

“See you then,” Rachel said cheerfully, unaware of Patrick’s attention being completely snagged by the music lesson Matt was giving Hailey.

 

Patrick hung up the phone and watched Matt, who leaned over to correct Hailey’s fingers.

 

Anna said, “What did Rachel say?”

 

“Huh?” said Patrick, tearing his eyes away from the piano.

 

Anna lifted a knowing eyebrow at him.

 

“Oh,” Patrick said. “I don’t know. She’s got something to talk to us about. She’s going to swing by later. In the meantime, Hailey, are you done with your homework?”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Hailey, not looking up from where Matt was demonstrating another chord. It sounded to Patrick like the beginning of _Scheme_.

 

He probably should have made her set the table, but he left her there, because she looked so absorbed in what she was doing. Adam insisted on helping him set the table by trying his best to break all of their glasses.

 

Kylie said, “Dad, I think I need access to a welder.”

 

“To a what?” said Patrick.

 

“I want to try metal-working. I feel like it’s the next direction my art is going in.”

 

“Welding seems extreme,” remarked Patrick.

 

“Matt advised me to work through my boy issues through art.”

 

“Did he now?”

 

“It’s solid advice,” said Matt, watching Hailey.

 

Anna said, “I know an artist who works with metal.”

 

“Oh, my God, really?” said Kylie. “Can I talk to him?”

 

Anna shrugged. “Sure. I think I’m burning your sauce here, Trick.”

 

It actually did smell that way. Patrick went and rescued the sauce and commanded everyone to pause in their homework so dinner could be had, and in the chaos of packing everything up, Patrick said to Matt, who stood at the piano and stretched, “Not that I’m jealous or anything.”

 

Matt looked surprised. “Jealous? Jealous of what? You never get jealous. You never even got jealous over groupies.”

 

Patrick snorted. “Matt, why would I get jealous over groupies?”

 

Anna laughed, and Matt and Patrick both looked at her.

 

“Sorry, it’s just… Matt, you never looked at your groupies. They’d have body parts hanging out all over you and you’d be craning to look over their shoulders trying to figure out where Patrick was. That’s why he wasn’t jealous.”

 

“Anyway,” said Patrick, “Hailey never cared at all about music until you showed up here.”

 

“That’s not true,” said Matt. “You were so scared of dictating their likes and desires that you ended up making her too scared to tell you how interested she was in it. You made music a verboten thing.”

 

“Verboten?” echoed Patrick.

 

“Verboten,” Matt said, doubling down on the word. “It wasn’t a thing they saw as a source of joy or fun. It was the thing you had carefully cordoned off into its separate corner and they weren’t supposed to go near it.” Matt paused, looking at Patrick’s face. “I’m not saying this to criticize you, I’m saying it’s silly to be jealous. She wants to know how to play your song. That’s what she asked me. But _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ is a bit complex, we’re going to start with _Scheme_.”

 

“I would have taught her,” said Patrick, suddenly worried that he really had done that, had run so far away from the way Matt treated music that he’d deprived his kids of it.

 

“I told her that. I don’t think she believed me but she would love it. I can do Adam’s bath tonight and you should teach Hailey the ridiculous opening sequence of _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.”

 

Patrick stared at him and marveled at how easily and casually Matt had just _settled into this_. He’d do Adam’s bath, so Patrick could play the piano with Hailey.

 

Matt said, “What’s this?” and poked at the dinner. “Did you make this, Anna?” Because Anna was the one putting it on the table.

 

“I stirred the sauce, and I think I burnt it.”

 

“We have to meet with Rachel tonight,” Patrick said. “And also I have to learn about hypotenuses.”

 

“I can do the hypotenuse thing,” Anna offered. “You two always sucked at math but I was pretty good at it.”

 

“You were good at calculating royalties,” said Matt.

 

“Somebody had to be,” said Anna, and threw a balled-up napkin at Matt.

 

“Dad says we can’t throw things at the table,” said Hailey, the first one back from putting her homework away.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, as he settled Adam in his highchair, “I can teach you to play the piano.”

 

Hailey beamed at him, and Patrick wondered how he hadn’t seen this. “Yeah?”

 

“Of course. I didn’t know you wanted to learn. You should have said.”

 

“What a fortuitous turn of events,” Matt said. “Your father is a _much_ better piano player, Hailey, he will save you from all the terrible habits I would have taught you.”

 

“Fortuitous,” Patrick echoed. “What is your vocabulary tonight?”

 

“Oh, he helped me study for my vocabulary test this morning,” Hailey said. “We’re going to write a song using all the words. You can help!” she told Patrick brightly.

 

Miranda and Kylie came back to the table, and Patrick said, “Miranda, Anna knows everything about hypotenuses and is going to help you with math.”

 

“I knew you would know,” said Miranda. “Dad and Matt are helpless.”

 

“Yes,” Anna agreed. “They are.”

 

“Kylie, tell me about your metalworks project,” said Matt.

 

“It’s going to be symbolic for how boys, like, destroy everything, but girls weld them back together.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, alarmed. “Should I be alarmed?”

 

“No,” said Kylie.

 

“That’s a simplistic gender dichotomy,” Anna remarked.

 

“Yeah,” Kylie said. “I’m thinking of working in different types of metal to expand beyond the two genders. I don’t want to be simplistic, but right now it’s the message that’s talking to me.”

 

“Understandable,” said Anna.

 

Patrick stared around the table, and no one else seemed to be making note of how remarkable this all was. They were all eating like it was a perfectly normal conversation. As if their table had always been… _full_ …like this. He had been so worried about making the girls accept Matt, and now Anna had shown up and they had expanded naturally, and it was so much _easier_ than Patrick would ever have anticipated.

 

Adam threw pasta at Patrick’s head, just to keep him on his toes.

 

***

 

Carmen insisted on going along to Patrick’s house that night.

 

“It’s not necessary,” Rachel said. “I can handle them. I can do my job.”

 

“Oh, I agree, you can definitely do your job. I am not going along to work but to flirt with some hot rock stars for a little while.”

 

“You know that these rock stars you’re going to flirt with are both taken. Like, they’re taken by each other.”

 

“You know what you have never understood, Rachel?” said Carmen grandly.

 

“I can’t wait for you to tell me,” said Rachel.

 

“Sometimes flirting is fun _on its own_. Should we show up with some gin?”

 

“No,” said Rachel, leading Carmen out of the house. “It’s a business meeting.”

 

“Have you been researching them?” asked Carmen.

 

“Yes,” said Rachel. “They’re my clients. I’ve watched more Mattrick videos than their biggest superfan.”

 

Carmen laughed. “I’m just saying, you can learn a lot about them from their lyrics. For instance: Matt’s drink of choice is a gin and tonic.”

 

“Matt’s drink of choice was a gin and tonic fifteen years ago,” said Rachel.

 

“It’s a mean song,” Carmen remarked, because _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ , in which Patrick referenced Matt draining gin and tonics, _was_ a mean song.

 

“I cannot imagine Matt was an easy person to date,” said Rachel.

 

“Eh,” Carmen shrugged. “All possible people to date are challenging in their own way. You would know that if you ever dated.”

 

“I tried to date and immediately lost out to some hot rock star guy,” Rachel pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but I promise that is _very_ rare,” said Carmen.

 

When they got to Patrick’s house, Patrick let them in and said, “Hey. I have just made everyone scatter to their bedrooms, so this is perfect timing. Hello, Carmen.”

 

“Hello, Patrick. Hello, my favorite Matt.”

 

“Hello, favorite Carmen,” Matt replied, with one of his curling smiles, stepping past Patrick to kiss Carmen’s cheek.

 

“Hi, Matt,” said Rachel.

 

“Hi, Rachel,” said Matt, perfunctory as you please.

 

Patrick said, “Come inside and meet Anna in person.”

 

“Oh,” said Rachel. “Anna’s here?”

 

“Yes,” Patrick confirmed. “And we’ve Skyped David as well.”

 

Anna, pink-haired and dressed head-to-toe in black, was sitting on the couch talking to her brother on a laptop. She said cheerfully, “Oh, look, our team has arrived.”

 

Rachel said, “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

 

Carmen purred, “Hello there, I’m Carmen,” and immediately co-opted a place by Anna’s side.

 

Anna looked amused.

 

David said, “Everyone is having way too much fun without me.”

 

Anna said, “It’s a family compound around here, you and Cora should just come with the kids.”

 

“So I’ve already talked to Lilah and Brie about this and they said to talk to you and get you on board with whatever you needed,” said Rachel.

 

Everyone looked at her.

 

Rachel said, “What?”

 

Matt said, “I suppose we are right down to business.”

 

“Well,” said Rachel, and looked uncertainly at Carmen. “I don’t want to waste everyone’s time here, I know you all have things to do.”

 

Carmen smiled at her, but it was an indulgent smile, like, _That’s Rachel for you, what can you do?_

 

Patrick said, “Well, can I get anyone anything to drink, before we get down to business? Water, coffee?”

 

“Patrick only has water or coffee in this house,” Anna told David. “It’s impressive.”

 

“Milk,” Patrick said. “There’s also milk.”

 

“Trick, are you and I sharing a bus?” David asked. “Because I sense we run in similar circles these days.”

 

“Ha,” said Anna. “Good luck fighting past Matt to get onto Patrick’s bus.”

 

“The two of you have too many children, you’d have to fit nineteen people on one bus,” said Matt.

 

“We could just stick the kids with you and Anna,” said David.

 

“Wait,” said Anna, looking over at Matt. “Actually.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt. “ _Yes_. That is an excellent idea. Leave the children to Anna and me.”

 

“Bad idea, David,” said Patrick.

 

“They’re going to corrupt the children,” David agreed, realizing.

 

“They’re already plotting,” said Patrick.

 

“Leave it to Mattanna,” said Anna blandly.

 

“Poor Rachel,” said Patrick, “wanted to get down to business ages ago. Rachel, sorry, David and I will get them under control better once we’re in the same room together. Why don’t you tell us what Lilah and Brie are so enthusiastic about?”

 

“The Today Show wants you,” said Rachel, deciding she’d better just say it while she had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

“Wait, what?” said David.

 

“The Today Show called up, they saw the viral video, they’ve got an unexpected opening, they want you to play the plaza. It would be a kickoff for the tour. And a good one. So, let’s talk about how we can get it to work.”

 

There was another moment of silence.

 

Patrick said, “The Today Show called _us_?”

 

“You went viral,” Rachel pointed out. “It was a smart move. I’ll give Matt credit.”

 

“It wasn’t exactly a scheme,” said Matt. “Not really.”

 

“So they want you in two weeks,” continued Rachel.

 

“Two weeks?” said Patrick.

 

“There’s no way we can rehearse in time to play a set in two weeks,” said David.

 

“It’s the Today Show,” Rachel said again. “Let’s find a way to make this work.”

 

“Two weeks,” Patrick repeated. “The kids are still in school.”

 

“It’s the penultimate week,” said Matt.

 

Patrick looked at him. “Seriously, no more vocabulary tests for you.”

 

“I’m just saying, what are they going to be doing in school in the penultimate week? We’ll take them to New York. Have they ever been to New York?”

 

“No,” said Patrick. “We were a West Coast family until very recently.”

 

“They will _love_ New York.” Matt looked like he was vibrating with glee. “This is great. Anna. Back me up.”

 

“I think Matt’s right,” Anna said. “David, this is a huge deal. Can’t you and Cora take the kids out of school for a couple of days?”

 

“Yeah,” said David on a sigh, “but how am I going to rehearse? I can’t leave Cora here alone to—”

 

“We can do Skype rehearsal,” Matt said. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“Skype rehearsal?” said David dubiously. “That sounds ridiculous—”

 

“Oh, fuck,” said Matt suddenly.

 

“What?” said Rachel.

 

“I need to talk to Kylie,” said Matt, and suddenly left the room.

 

Rachel didn’t know what to think. “What does that mean?”

 

“Who knows?” said Anna, evidently unconcerned. “Let’s think about what songs we’ll play. Maybe we can minimize your role, David. How many songs will they want?”

 

“They’ve asked for three,” said Rachel.

 

“We have to play _Luck_ ,” said David. “We don’t have a choice. It’s our biggest hit. And I have a big part in _Luck_.”

 

“So you’ll rehearse your part,” said Matt, coming back into the room. “It’ll be fine. It’s like riding a bike.”

 

“Kylie?” Patrick said, lifting his eyebrows at Matt.

 

“We’re good,” said Matt. “I kind of made Kylie a deal we’d keep a low profile until school got out. Which, you know, playing the Today Show isn’t a low profile.”

 

“When did you make that deal?” asked Patrick.

 

“The other day. But now we’ve made a new deal, and that is that I’m going to show all of you the time of your lives while we’re in New York. Which I was going to do anyway, so this is a good deal, and your daughter is a terrible negotiator. We’ll play _Luck_ , it’ll be fine.”

 

“Skype rehearsal isn’t going to work,” said David. “But I’ll talk to Cora and see if I can be there next week in person. We’ll have to juggle childcare and stuff but we might be able to make it work, so I’d just be absent via Skype this week.

 

“That works,” said Matt. “How many other songs do they want?”

 

“Two other songs.”

 

“We’ll do _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ ,” said Matt.

 

“We don’t have to,” said Patrick.

 

“We’ll do it,” said Matt. “It’s fine, and that song is a break for David, so it’s less for us to have to rehearse remotely, and crowds love it. We’ll play it. I’ll play it with you, even. I’ll be your backup.”

 

“So we need one more,” said Anna.

 

“We can do _Wild Ride_ ,” Matt suggested.

 

“We should do _Kiss Me Last_ ,” said David. “I’d feel better if we did _Kiss Me Last_.”

 

“Fine with me,” Anna said.

 

Everyone looked at Patrick.

 

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

 

“Good,” said Rachel. “It’s settled. Any specific demands you need me to go back to them with?”

 

“Did we just say yes to playing the Today Show?” said Patrick.

 

Matt grinned. “Brace yourself, baby, it’s gonna be a wild ride.”

 

***

 

Rachel sat in the living room and tried to pay attention to the telenovela Carmen was watching. And tried not to look too much like she was staring moodily at her piano. Even though she was.

 

“You should just play it,” Carmen said.

 

So yeah, Rachel wasn’t doing a good job hiding it at all. “It’s not as easy as that.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” said Carmen.

 

“It’s complicated,” said Rachel.

 

“I get it,” said Carmen, and she did sound understanding, and sympathetic.

 

“Music was never for me like it was for them. I was listening to them tonight and…they were _friends_.”

 

“Yeah,” said Carmen.

 

“I didn’t have friends. I don’t think I had friends until you. Oh, God. That sounds pathetic. Ignore me.” Rachel was horrified at herself.

 

“That’s what happens when you’re a child prodigy,” said Carmen.

 

“Patrick’s piano was covered with papers, did you notice? They’re writing. They’re just sitting there writing music together, like it’s easy.” _And I can’t even touch my piano_ , thought Rachel.

 

Carmen watched her for a moment, then said, “You’ll get there.” She turned back to the telenovela but she reached out and took Rachel’s hand and squeezed it, and Rachel was grateful for the contact, and Carmen’s usual non-judgmental straightforwardness.

 

“Carmen,” said Rachel, and then didn’t know what else to say.

 

“Hmm?” said Carmen.

 

“Thanks,” Rachel said.

 

Carmen gave her a quick smile. “Yeah.”

 

***

 

They had two weeks to rehearse for the Today Show. No, less than that, if you factored in travel time. And Patrick had kept playing the piano for the past fifteen years but he hadn’t been playing Swan songs, and he hadn’t been playing them in front of a live national audience of millions. So there was a lot to get done.

 

Mrs. Honeycutt agreed to take Adam for all five days of the week, mostly because Matt flirted like mad and called her “Mrs. Honeycutt, my dearest” in an overdramatic fashion that made Mrs. Honeycutt look like she would agree to anything.

 

Patrick said, “You dazzled her.”

 

Matt agreed with a grin, “I’m overpowering.”

 

So they started rehearsals in a good mood. They were in a less good mood several hours in when they kept getting the timing on _Kiss Me Last_ just slightly off. It would have been challenging under any circumstances, to find their way back into synch after fifteen years off, with a drummer who’d been off making documentaries, and it was even more challenging with David over Skype.

 

And with a camera crew in the room.

 

It was just a few people, but Anna said, “Hey, my documentary has to start at the beginning,” and at first Patrick thought that they were going to do terribly with an audience, until Matt said impatiently, “We _always_ have an audience, play the opening, Patrick,” which had put that whole thing into perspective.

 

They were growing tired and impatient, though, except for Matt, who was blossoming into his role. Patrick supposed that was what made him the lead singer, because he was willing to drag everyone out into the charismatic spotlight with him through sheer force of will.

 

“We can take it from the top again,” said Matt with relentless cheerfulness. “I think we’ve got that transition to the bridge down.”

 

“You _think_?” said David over Skype, pushing a hand through his hair and leaving it spiked over his head.

 

Patrick’s cell phone rang next to him on the bench, where he’d left it in case any of the kids had had any type of emergency. He glanced at it just to make sure it wasn’t an emergency, and then stared at the name blinking at him. _Ashley_.

 

Ashley, who hadn’t called in…months. Patrick couldn’t remember when.

 

“I have to take this,” he said, grabbing the phone, and then slipping out the door nearest him, into the alleyway the building backed up onto. “Hello,” he said.

 

Ashley said, “Hello, Patrick. You and Matt look awfully cozy.”

 

Patrick blinked and thought, _The viral video_. She was calling about the fucking _viral video_. And Patrick, who had been calm and cool and collected through everything with Ashley, lost his temper all at once. “Fuck you,” Patrick snapped.

 

There was a moment of silence during which Patrick could _feel_ the shock radiating from Ashley. Because he had never spoken to her like that, not through all those years of a marriage Patrick was coming to realize had been odd and aloof, not even as she had walked out of his life and leaving him with a squalling infant in his hands. He thought of what he’d said to Matt: He’d never been hard on Ashley, because he’d never cared enough.

 

“What?” Ashley managed.

 

Patrick spoke over her. “Fuck you. You’ve got four kids here that you haven’t bothered to lift a finger to contact in _months_ , and you’re calling me now because some fucking video went viral? Fuck you.”

 

“Patrick—” said Ashley, still sounding shocked.

 

“The kids are great,” said Patrick. “Adam’s not walking yet, but I really think any day now he’s going to get brave enough to try. Probably when I’m not looking, because he’s a little contrary that way. Hailey seems to want to try piano lessons, Miranda’s in heaven because the great Anna Jin has graced us with her presence, and Kylie has a dizzying array of boy problems that she doesn’t seem inclined to talk to me about, but you know what’s lucky? Matt walked into our lives and she talks to Matt. They all talk to Matt. Turns out maybe what they needed was another fucking parent.”

 

“Shut up,” Ashley snarled. “Like you ever gave me a chance to be the other parent. Like you weren’t holding that position open for Matt the entire time. You seem to forget that I know Matt Usher and I’m finding it a bit much to believe your story that he’s a magically great wife and mother all of a sudden.”

 

“I didn’t exclude you,” Patrick said harshly, because he’d been wondering this himself and he didn’t anymore and so he had to be harsh about it to cover up his guilt. “You weren’t interested enough to push your way in. The kids are at school, you know. You couldn’t even be bothered to figure out the time zones enough to figure out when you might be able to talk to them.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ashley snorted. “Because this was absolutely a conversation that we should have had in front of the kids. You stopped having them call me.”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Sorry, that was an executive paternal decision because every time they called you and couldn’t get through, or you were too busy to talk, or some random stranger answered your phone and had no idea where you were, I had heartbroken kids I had no idea how to deal with. So yeah. They stopped calling, not because I forbade it but because they learned their own survival skills, Ash, and I let them because you’ve got to learn sooner or later how to avoid the thing that’s breaking your heart.”

 

“Says the man who let Matt Usher walk right back in,” Ashley pointed out coolly.

 

Which was a great point. Patrick ignored it and said, “We went viral last week.”

 

“What?”

 

“We went viral last week. You’re calling me now?”

 

“I was away last week,” Ashley said.

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick. “I bet. This has been fun, Ash. Good talk. Call your kids.” Patrick hung up on her and stalked back into the rehearsal space, where not much seemed to be getting done, Matt was tuning his electric guitar and Anna was absently tapping her cymbal periodically and they were having some kind of desultory conversation with David.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said as he came in. “We’ve discussed and we’re sick of _Kiss Me Last_ , do you want to try to _Trick Up Your Sleeve_?”

 

“Yes,” Patrick clipped out, sitting at the piano. “Let’s play _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.”

 

Matt gave him a close look and said slowly, “Hey—”

 

Patrick started playing, harder and faster than he usually played the song, launching his way into the first line with not enough breath to get through it but he didn’t give a fuck, it wasn’t like it was a live performance.

 

Matt scrambled into place. Normally Matt didn’t play on _Trick Up Your Sleeve_. They used it as a rest song for him, because every other song belonged to him and required him to be leading the charge. _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ was entirely Patrick’s, so Matt could duck off-stage for a minute’s relief. And also Matt had used to prefer not to be on stage for the song.

 

But Matt didn’t need a rest in a three-song set, and Matt had had the idea to maybe layer in accompaniment for Patrick, a special treat for this live version of the song. Patrick was playing the song faster than usual, and Matt worked hard to get his planned part lined up properly. Patrick could sense the confused looks Matt kept shooting him but he ignored them. Anna’s drumbeat kicked into the second verse the way she was supposed to, and Patrick could sense that he was forcing everybody to race to keep up with him, and he didn’t care. _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ had been written to give him a chance to pound angrily on a piano and shout, and he used it for all it was worth now.

 

“Before I pack my things and finally leave,” Patrick sang, and crashed the final chord into place, and there was a resounding silence that followed the end of the song.

 

“Okay,” said Matt, and took his guitar off. “Can we have the room?”

 

“Yes,” said Anna fervently, and scurried out from behind the drum set, grabbing the tablet that held David’s Skype call, and pausing to gather up her camera crew.

 

 _The camera crew_ , thought Patrick. He’d maybe forgotten about them. What a rendition they’d just preserved for posterity, he thought sourly.

 

Matt came to lean up against the upright piano that had been procured for the space. It wasn’t the world’s best piano and Patrick wasn’t in love with it but it was doing its job well enough.

 

“What have I done?” asked Matt, sounding perplexed.

 

Patrick shook his head. “Nothing.”

 

“I thought we weren’t lying this time around. You didn’t sing this song like that last week.”

 

Patrick stood from the piano and walked around it and kissed Matt, fierce and hard and possessive. “Nothing. You did nothing.”

 

“What the fuck,” said Matt, sounding breathless, which had been Patrick’s intention. Patrick knew Matt, and Patrick knew exactly how to kiss Matt to derail his train of thought.

 

“How long do you think they’ll give us the room for?” Patrick asked, his hand at Matt’s belt. “How quickly do you think I can blow you?”

 

“Okay,” Matt said shakily, but managed to bat Patrick’s hand away. “What is going on?”

 

“It’s the act by which I take your cock and put it into my mouth—”

 

“I’m not,” Matt said, his voice firmer, “getting into the cycle of fighting and fucking that we used to do.”

 

Which gave Patrick pause. His gaze had been on his hands on Matt’s hips, and he blinked at them and said dazedly, “Fuck. We used to do that.” He lifted his eyes to meet Matt’s. “We used to do that.” He hadn’t even thought through the instinct, when he was angry, to just attack Matt into sex until they both felt better.

 

“Yes,” Matt said solemnly. “Although I can’t take credit for that observation. That was Anna.”

 

Patrick exhaled, and with it felt himself deflate a bit. He was angry, and keyed up, but it wasn’t at Matt, and he knew that, and he was letting himself misdirect. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Patrick.” Matt brushed his hands through Patrick’s hair, soft and sweet, and Patrick closed his eyes. “Who called you?”

 

“Ashley,” said Patrick.

 

Matt was silent for so long that Patrick had to open his eyes again.

 

Matt looked stunned. “ _Ashley_ called you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Does she do that?”

 

Patrick laughed, hollow and bitter. “No. Never. You know who else she never calls? _Her children_.”

 

“Why did she call now?”

 

Patrick gave him a look. “Why do you think she called now?”

 

“Hey, guys?” said Anna, poking her head back into the room.

 

“Nope,” Matt called back, without taking his eyes off of Patrick. “We need more time.”

 

“Got it,” said Anna, and retreated again.

 

“We went viral,” said Matt.

 

“Yes.”

 

“That was _last week_.”

 

“Oh, who knows what she was doing, Matt? She says she was away. I don’t know. She _never_ calls the kids. _Ever_. So instead she called to accuse me of looking cozy with you.”

 

Matt gave Patrick a gentle little shove away from him. “Play.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sit at the piano and play. You’ll feel better if you play.”

 

“No, I won’t.”

 

“Yes, you will. Trust me. You will. Sit at the piano and play and talk to me.”

 

Patrick, dubious, obeyed and sat at the piano. He played _Do-Re-Mi_ just to be obnoxious.

 

Matt didn’t react to the song choice. Matt leaned on the piano and said, “How often did you fight with Ashley about me?”

 

“Ashley and I never fought. Ever. You know why? Because I didn’t fucking care enough to fight with her. Fuck.” Patrick transitioned into _Sixteen Going on Seventeen_. “I was a fucking terrible husband.”

 

“You weren’t,” Matt said. “I know enough about you—and about terrible husbands, incidentally—to know that you weren’t.”

 

Patrick wasn’t listening to him. Patrick said, “She says I was always holding the space open for you. That I didn’t let her in because you were already there.”

 

“Do you think you did that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Patrick snapped. “I already told you that I never let myself think about you. So I would have said no, that I wasn’t doing anything like that, but instead, you know what? You walked back into my life and oh, look, there was a space for you. I _had_ left a fucking space open for you, _fuck_.”

 

“Do you know every single song from _The Sound of Music_?” Matt asked.

 

Patrick realized he was playing _My Favorite Things_. “I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I guess. Are you listening to me?”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “I’m listening to every word. Also every note of this terrible medley you’re playing for me. Can I ask you some questions?”

 

Patrick sighed and moved into _The Lonely Goatherd_. “Yes.”

 

“You said she never helped you with breakfast.”

 

“She didn’t.”

 

“Why not? Did you tell her she couldn’t?”

 

“No. Of course not.”

 

“Did you tell her she couldn’t see Adam after he was born?”

 

Patrick stopped playing, frowning at Matt. “No.”

 

“Keep playing,” said Matt. “You haven’t done _Edelweiss_ yet.”

 

Patrick started _Edelweiss_.

 

“Do you stop the kids from calling her?”

 

“No. Never. They… I can’t make them want to call someone they can tell isn’t interested in them, Matt. You know how that feels. It’s an exercise in… I’m not going to make them do that.”

 

Matt said, after a moment, “Okay. You can stop playing.”

 

Patrick stopped playing. He didn’t feel better, although he did feel calmer.

 

Matt said, “I can’t imagine what it feels like to love you and never be let in. I mean, I get why Ashley hates me. She’s right to hate me. But you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you. You were probably the most incredibly polite spouse in history. You probably went out of your way to be unfailingly nice and understanding. Because you would have felt guilty about your heart not being in it and you would have tried in a thousand different ways to make up for it.”

 

Patrick tapped a key absently. “I just couldn’t make it up to her the one way she wanted.”

 

“No. And I don’t know that that’s your fault. She knew you were in love with me when she married you.”

 

Patrick sighed. “I don’t think she did. I think she thought we were over.”

 

“Patrick. Nobody who knew us thought we were over but us. She gave you three kids without stopping for breath. You know why she did that?”

 

“Because I love the kids.”

 

“Because you love the kids, and she needed there to be something you loved.”

 

Patrick swallowed and said, “Is this therapy talking? Have you just gotten really good at therapy?”

 

“No,” Matt said. “My therapist would tell you that I’m terrible at therapy. I’m good at _you_. Most of the time. And also I know how it feels to be loved by you. I wrote a lot of songs about it. I have sympathy for Ashley not getting that. Not enough sympathy to forgive what she’s doing with the kids, though, because your kids are great and I don’t even like kids.”

 

“You like kids,” said Patrick.

 

“I really want a raincheck on the blowjob,” said Matt. “Can I have a raincheck on that, for being really mature and, like, conflict-resolving?”

 

Patrick laughed. “Matt, you can have whatever you want tonight. But you always can.”

 

“Yeah, see, that’s why Ashley’s upset.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick glumly.

 

Matt moved around the piano and kissed the top of Patrick’s head, leaving his lips resting there for a long moment, and Patrick felt a little dizzy with how he’d ended up here. Life was fucking weird.

 

“Can I let our audience in again?” asked Matt.

 

“Yes,” said Patrick. “Can we skip to _Luck_ and come back to _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ later?”

 

“Yes,” said Matt.

 

***

 

Matt had always liked New York. Matt generally liked cities. Matt generally preferred for stuff to be _happening_. And New York was a good city for that.

 

It was an even better city with Patrick and his kids, which Matt was a little unprepared for. He had never done New York with kids, so of course he didn’t know what to expect, but Patrick’s kids were enthusiastic and excited. They had whole lists of things they intended to do in New York. Matt read them over while Patrick drove and said, “Hmm, aren’t we coming back on Sunday?”

 

“Yes,” said Patrick.

 

“Well, your kids are under the impression we’re spending the next three months in New York, based on these lists,” Matt remarked.

 

“Okay,” said Miranda practically. “We’re clearly going to have to prioritize.”

 

“We’re going to have to split up,” said Matt, still glancing through the lists, and caught the look Patrick shot him. He was beginning to recognize that look; it was the one he got when he did something with the kids that Patrick found amazing, even though it was a totally normal thing to do.

 

Rachel met them in the lobby of the hotel when they got there and said, “You’re all checked in, you can go straight up.”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick. “Such VIP treatment.”

 

“I wasn’t sure how much of a diva Matt was,” said Rachel.

 

“He’s about a seven out of a ten,” said Patrick.

 

“Unfair,” said Matt, just as he got recognized by a woman across the lobby. “You take the kids, I’ll do meet-and-greet,” Matt offered.

 

Patrick didn’t argue, even though Matt knew he would have without kids. Rachel looked torn, and Matt said, “I swear I can handle myself, I’ve been doing it so many years.” And, in fact, he _was_ good with fans. He posed for selfies and signed autographs and bantered automatically. They asked about Patrick naturally, and Matt said platitudes about him, and how happy and excited they were to be performing together again, and Matt smoothly sidestepped any of the knowing, hinting questions he always got about his relationship with Patrick, because that was what they did: They sidestepped those questions.

 

“Okay,” Rachel said, and broke up the crowd. “Sorry. He’s got a sound check to get to. Sorry.”

 

Matt was more grateful than he wanted to look in front of the fans. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Come to the plaza tomorrow, I will sign until my hand falls off, I promise.”

 

Rachel shepherded him onto an elevator, and Matt leaned against the cool mirrored wall behind him gratefully. “You came back to rescue me. Thanks.”

 

“So that’s how it goes, huh?” said Rachel.

 

Matt tried not to get defensive. He wished Rachel didn’t make him feel so unreasonably defensive all the time. “What do you mean?”

 

“You took the hit. That’s what that was. You saw immediately how it was going to go and you got Patrick out of the situation. That’s what you do: _You’re_ the one of the group who stays behind and does the signing.”

 

“I mean,” said Matt, “they all do it with me, when it’s planned. They just like it less than I do when it’s unplanned. It doesn’t bother me that much to be recognized, and it _does_ bother them.”

 

“Okay,” said Rachel. “Well, if you must know, Patrick sent me back down to get you because he said you’d exhaust yourself if left to your own devices, and it’s true, I do need your energy level up for tomorrow. The two of you don’t fool each other at all.”

 

“I’m not trying to fool him,” Matt said wearily. “I was the one who wanted to be a rock star. Patrick just wanted to write songs. So, you know, twenty years later I feel like I still owe him an attempt at the life where he doesn’t have fans descending on him in a hotel lobby. What do we have on our schedule for the evening?”

 

“Nothing,” said Rachel. “Sound check’s first thing tomorrow. Like, pre-dawn. So what you should do tonight is stay in, not go clubbing.”

 

“I’m not sure you understand how unlikely clubbing is,” Matt said.

 

“You were clubbing the night I first got in touch with you,” Rachel pointed out.

 

“Christ,” said Matt, “that was a full lifetime ago now.”

 

“Certainly feels like it,” Rachel agreed.

 

Matt looked at her and said, “I want you to know. You don’t know us very well, so I want you to know: We’re good at what we do.”

 

“You haven’t done what you do for fifteen years.”

 

“We’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about tomorrow.”

 

“Wake-up call’s at 3:30,” Rachel said, as the elevator doors slid open.

 

“In the _morning_?” said Matt, as he stepped off the elevator.

 

Rachel waved to him as the door slid back closed.

 

“Fuck,” Matt muttered, taking advantage of the momentary child-free zone for a satisfying curse.

 

And then he walked into the suite.

  
The kids had _colonized_ it. Matt felt like every possible multimedia device was operational and the girls were strewn across every couch.

 

“New York is awesome!” Miranda told him, upside down on one of the couches.

 

“Yeah?” said Matt. “You like the suite?”

 

“Matt,” said Kylie. “When can we go out? We’ve got _lists_.”

 

“I’m aware,” said Matt. “Where’s your dad?”

 

“He was changing Adam,” said Hailey, and gestured to one of the bedrooms.

 

Matt found Patrick on the bed, which seemed like a good idea to Matt. Adam crawled over to him, talking very excitedly about something, probably New York.

 

“Hi, Adam,” Matt said, and collapsed onto the bed with Patrick. “Do you know when our wake-up call is tomorrow?”

 

“Let’s not talk about it,” said Patrick. “How are our fans?”

 

“Lovely. They’re always lovely. Have you seen Anna or David?”

 

“I texted with them. David said he and Cora and the kids are already out exploring. They want to meet up for dinner.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “We can do that. What do you want do between then and now?”

 

Patrick smiled across at him. “There was a time when that would have been a leading question.”

 

Matt chuckled. “Leading to less clothes?”

 

“Indeed,” said Patrick.

 

“Hold the thought,” said Matt. “Less clothes can happen later. Let’s go conquer New York.”

 

***

 

Matt couldn’t sleep. He was trying to give a good impression of it, because he wanted Patrick to sleep. So Matt laid next to him and breathed slow and even and deep, listening to Patrick’s slow and even and deep breaths beside him. They could have been both fooling the other into the idea of sleep, Matt thought, amused.

 

But when he finally ventured rolling over to face Patrick, Patrick was clearly sound asleep. Matt laid there for a long time, watching him sleep, listening to the sounds of New York very distantly out their window, the silence reigning in the rest of the suite. The kids had been cranky and exhausted by the time they’d gotten in—all of them, including Kylie. But they’d had a blast. David’s kids, Brenna and Kyle, were seven and nine and very sweet, and everyone mostly got along, and David’s wife Cora was friendly and comfortable and held Adam for hours because she said she missed having a baby around. Cora was obviously on good terms with Anna and that helped make the dinner not awkward, because Anna acted as a connection, and really, it had been a lovely evening, and so strikingly different from the way Matt’s life had looked the month before.

 

Matt stayed carefully still in bed, not wanting to take Patrick, and thought and thought. Adam had been difficult to put to sleep in the unfamiliar surroundings. They had gone to bed later than they’d wanted, collapsing together, and Matt should have been exhausted—Matt _was_ exhausted—and also Matt was on the eve of his first live performance in a decade, and, sure, it was a live performance for all of them but Matt was well aware that Swan live songs rose and fell on him. He was the one who had to stand there and greet the audience and guide them through the songs together. He was good at it—he knew he was—but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous.

 

Matt closed his eyes and envisioned the notes he had to play for every single one of the songs they were performing, one by one, being careful and methodical about it. Then he went over every single word he had to sing, spinning the words out in his head.

 

He opened his eyes and looked at the clock by the bed, which glowed 3:02. Twenty-eight minutes, Matt thought, and looked over at Patrick.

 

Twenty-eight minutes, he thought, didn’t make a huge difference in the grand scheme of sleep, and Matt, well, Matt could get things done in twenty-eight minutes.

 

Matt started with a kiss in the sleep-warm space behind Patrick’s ear, nosing under his tousled hair to reach the skin. And then he drifted down, nibbling softly along Patrick’s throat. Patrick moved under him, made a sleepy sound, so Matt scraped his teeth along the stubble on Patrick’s jaw, which made Patrick gasp, which made Matt smile against him. He shifted to lick along Patrick’s collarbone, letting his hand drift down to make sure Patrick’s cock had decided to wake up, too. It was getting there, and Matt wrapped a hand around to coax it harder, while he pressed the flat of his tongue against Patrick’s right nipple. Patrick bucked unsteadily, instinctively, into the slow encouraging rhythm of Matt’s hand on him.

 

Matt glanced at the time, and then Matt ducked under the blanket and pushed Patrick’s boxers entirely out of his way so he could give him a wet, sloppy blowjob. He half-expected Patrick to push the blanket away but maybe Patrick wasn’t awake enough to quite get there, since Patrick just clumsily cupped Matt’s head through the layer. He was unguarded enough to be unabashedly thrusting into Matt’s mouth, so Matt leaned back into the easy pressure of Patrick’s hand on his head and let Patrick hold him still and fuck his mouth until he came.

 

Easiest blowjob of my life, Matt thought but didn’t say. He just swallowed and escape the hot confines of the blanket to kiss Patrick, open-mouthed and filthy, and Patrick, gasping, moaned.

 

“Well,” he said, when Matt pulled back, and his voice was rough with sleep and sex, “good morning.” His hand closed around Matt’s erection, strong and sure of its grip.

 

“Uh-huh,” said Matt, and put his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

The phone rang, and Patrick, working at Matt, said, “Who the fuck—”

 

“It’s our wake-up call,” Matt gasped, “and if you stop to get it, I swear to God—”

 

“I’m not going to stop,” Patrick said, and bit Matt’s earlobe. “Are you kidding? I want you to come and make a huge mess over all these sheets that I don’t have to fucking clean in the morning.”

 

Which, weirdly, was the thing that Matt tip over into his orgasm.

 

He collapsed sweatily on Patrick’s chest, trying to catch his breath, and was dimly aware of Patrick struggling for the phone and saying, “Yeah, we’re up,” and then letting it drop somewhere near them on the bed.

 

“Fuck,” Matt panted against Patrick’s damp skin, and then licked at it.

 

Patrick started laughing, deep and fond, and Matt felt the kiss he pressed to his messy hair. “What was that for?”

 

Matt shook his head against Patrick’s shoulder. “No reason.” He propped himself up and looked ruefully between them.

 

Patrick wiped his hand extravagantly on one of the sheets and then used the sheet to wipe up his chest as well.

 

Matt said, “That’s gross.”

 

“We’re getting out of bed,” Patrick said, “and someone else is laundering these sheets.”

 

“I did not know you were going to be so turned on by someone else doing your laundry,” remarked Matt. “I’m so excited to still be learning new things about you.”

 

Patrick laughed. “This is our chance to have messy sex. If that’s a thing you wanted, it’s happening in the next two days, so get your penis with the program.”

 

“I’ll have a talk with it,” Matt said. “Make sure it’s up to the task. How much are you tipping people to deal with this mess?”

 

“A lot,” Patrick said, and did look abashed. “A great deal.”

 

“Well,” remarked Matt. “They did rent this suite to a couple of rock stars, so they were probably expecting worse.”

 

***

 

Patrick showered and dressed in jeans and an old Henley, appropriate for the pre-dawn chill. The day would be warm, but it was still cool at the moment. While Matt showered, Patrick regarded the mess of the sheets and felt guilty and pulled off the top one to soak it in the sink. Matt, poking his head out of the steamed-up door to see what he was doing, laughed so hard at him that Patrick thought he might slip and fall and bang his head.

 

“Please don’t give yourself a concussion the morning of our first concert,” said Patrick. “Rachel will kill me. Rachel’s very nervous we’re going to fuck this whole thing up.”

 

“Which is weird,” said Matt, retreating back into the shower, “because it’s not _her_ reputation on the line.”

 

“I think Rachel just equates performing with nerves. That’s what Carmen told me yesterday, anyway, after I sent Rachel off to get you.”

 

“Carmen’s here?”

 

“Yes. She said to say hi. She didn’t want her sex appeal to be too distracting to you right before the concert.” Patrick leaned against the bathroom counter and folded his arms, waiting for Matt to finish.

 

Matt laughed and turned the shower off, and Patrick waited for him to step out.

 

Matt said, “What are you doing, skulking there waiting to accost me, naked and freshly clean?”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, and put a hand behind his soaking wet head and then ducked forward and kissed him, sweet and gentle. Matt went still, kissing back with the same sweetness, a little hesitant and reserved, the lovely delicious flipside of the Matt who had been so forward and bold an hour earlier. It wasn’t unheard of for Matt to decide to wake him up with a blowjob, but doing it on the morning of their first big performance, Patrick suspected, had more to do with Matt being keyed up and wanting a release than any particular lust for Patrick.

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, a little hum of approval but Patrick doubted he was even aware of.

 

Patrick kissed him once more, then drew back far enough to say, “I’m really excited for this second part of Swan with you.”

 

Matt’s eyes were enormously wide and very dark. He said, “Me, too.”

 

***

 

Adam was miserable and needed to let everyone know it. Cora looked at him sympathetically as Patrick tried to walk him up and down the hallways of the Today Show and said, “I get how he feels.”

 

Matt was sitting in the green room listening to the things going on around him with only half an ear. He was trying much harder to keep a grip on the way the music was going to sound. He could hear that opening saxophone blast of _Kiss Me Last_. He was keeping that in mind, the way he planned to lean toward the microphone and grin as he sang the first line. It would come to him naturally, he knew, he just wanted to _get out there_ already.

 

Rachel came in and said, “Okay, they’re ready for the sound check.” She looked at Patrick, circling back through with Adam. “Is he going to cry the whole time?”

 

“I woke him up at four a.m.,” said Patrick. “I get why he’s not the happiest person in the universe right now.” Patrick glanced back at the girls, all three of whom had curled up on couches in the green room and promptly fallen right back to sleep, crying baby brother be damned. Matt supposed that was what it was like to be young.

 

“They’ll be fine in here,” Rachel said.

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick.

 

“Do you want me to take the baby?” Cora answered.

 

Patrick sighed. “He’ll cry more. No offense. He doesn’t know you. It would be great if I could get him to go back to sleep.”

 

“You’ve got to sing to him,” Matt said. “Let me see him.”

 

“I do sing to him,” Patrick said, sounding a little offended.

 

But they had a sound check to get to, and Matt was in problem-solving mode, so he said to Adam, “Adam, love, here’s the deal. I’m going to sing you a lullaby and it’s going to make you sleepy and we’ll wake you up in a few minutes and give you a concert, how’s that?”

 

Adam hiccupped, looking vaguely intrigued by Matt’s proposal.

 

Matt looked at Rachel. “Tell them we’re going to be a few minutes late.”

 

“Matt,” Rachel said, looking frustrated.

 

“Also tell them that we’re going to do a full rehearsal. We’ll play the full set through for the fans. We’ll be right there.” And then he pivoted to walk in the opposite direction, dodging Anna’s camera crew as he did so, and he crooned _Luck_ in a low voice, which was good, it was warm-up, he wouldn’t be totally rusty for sound check, and ten minutes later he arrived back in the green room with a sleeping baby.

 

“Huh,” said Patrick.

 

“You could have done it, too,” Matt said, transferring Adam carefully over to Cora. “You were rattled. Let’s go be rock stars.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, a little blankly, and then followed Matt.

 

They went onto the stage without preamble, with no big announcement, and the crowd that had gathered broke into wild applause at the sight of them. Matt grinned and waved and accepted the guitar somebody handed him. It was cold, and he blew on his hands before giving the guitar an experimental strum. He fiddled with his earpiece and listened to Patrick playing a few snatches of phrases on the grand piano that had been positioned on the stage. Patrick wasn’t happy with one of the keys, and somebody from the show was leaning over him, mumbling about the key sticking. Anna went through a few runs on her drums, and David played something playful on the sax, and the crowd gave some laughing cheers of approval.

 

Patrick seemed happier with the piano, was playing more confidently now, in longer bursts. He leaned over and blew into the microphone that had been set up for him, and Matt glanced over at him, then tipped his head to tell Patrick to go for it.

 

So Patrick did. He looked out over the crowd and said, “Good morning, New York!”

 

The crowd cheered in response, and Patrick grinned and played the opening of _New York, New York_.

 

“Is it morning?” Matt asked into his own microphone. “I don’t think it’s morning.” He frowned as he spoke, concentrating on the sound in his earpiece and its contrast with the crowd, which was murmuring amusement. The levels on his earpiece seemed to settle and Matt smiled at the crowd and said, “Happy godawful middle-of-the-night hour, New York!”

 

He got applause in reaction. Maybe louder than Patrick had gotten, not that anyone was keeping track.

 

He looked over at Patrick, who gave him an unimpressed quirk of a smile, and Matt grinned and turned back to the crowd. “We are Swan, and we haven’t done this in a while.” There were more cheers, and Matt shouted over them, pleased the crowd was loud enough that he had to work to make himself heard. He hoped they were getting the sound levels right on the whole thing. “Let’s see if we remember any songs. David, this one’s yours, kick us off.”

 

He heard David draw in breath, and then follow it with the saxophone blast of _Kiss Me Last_ , and Matt leaned toward his microphone and felt his grin kick in, as he sang, “Baby, it’s a certainty that you and I are meant to be,” but the crowd sang it with him and they were _so loud_ that Matt momentarily lost track of what he was doing. He felt like he couldn’t hear himself and gestured off-stage to try to indicate that, and he did hear the adjustment in his earpiece, and then Patrick’s piano kicked in, and Matt felt it like a signpost. Thank Christ for Patrick being so reliable and always knowing exactly when his cue was and Matt fell into the chorus confidently, leaning back from the microphone as he got a better feel for how his voice was projecting.

 

The crowd knew _every word_. He’d forgotten to expect that. When the song finished, he said, “I could just have you guys come up and sing it for me. It would make my job a bunch easier.”

 

“Matt wants an even easier job than the one he’s got,” said Patrick to the crowd, earning himself laughter. “He wants to just sit off to the side with a mimosa Being Matt Usher.”

 

“Nice work if you can get it,” said Matt, grinning over at Patrick. Because he _loved_ this. He had _missed_ this.

 

Patrick played him _I’ve Got Rhythm_.

 

“Aww, he’s playing you Gershwin,” Matt told the crowd.

 

“I’m playing _you_ Gershwin,” said Patrick, and the crowd aww’d this time, and that would be all over every Mattrick corner of the internet, as Patrick well knew.

 

“He’s a heartbreaker,” Matt told the crowd, “and he’s going to sing you a song now.”

 

Patrick only sang one song, and the crowd was ready for it. And Patrick sang it well, letting them shout with him, clearly having a blast.

 

When he was done the crowd cheered in delight, and Patrick gave them a little bow, and, as had been agreed, they flowed directly into _Luck_ , which got a very enthusiastic reception, as it always did, and by the time they reached the end, Matt leaned toward the crowd and shouted, “You say to me,” and then held the microphone toward them.

 

“You want to fuck!” the crowd shouted back, unmistakable.

 

Matt hoped NBC had its censors ready.

 

They bowed to the crowd and waved and Matt said, “We will see you again in a couple of hours,” and then they walked off.

 

“They were loud,” said David. “I’d forgotten how loud they could be.”

 

“Tell me about it,” said Matt.

 

“You lost the song,” Patrick said. “On _Kiss Me Last_.”

 

“I lost my place,” Matt said.

  
“Did they fix the levels for you?”

 

Matt nodded. “When your piano kicked in I got my place again.”

 

“You were good,” Rachel said as they came upon her.

 

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Matt said drily.

 

“No, I mean,” said Rachel. “You were _really good_.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “We are.”

 

***

 

The girls, with their VIP passes, looked suitably wide-eyed at everything going on around them. Patrick felt wide-eyed as well. It had been a while since this had happened.

 

Then again, it had also felt amazingly familiar, Matt on stage flirting and Patrick flirting back and a crowd cheering them on. It was very much like they’d never left.

 

Adam had woken in a better mood and was showing off his standing skills for Cora, who was suitably impressed. Carmen had arrived, and she sat in a corner and flirted outrageously with Matt, who was in a good mood and flirted back just as much. It was a performance high, Patrick thought. Matt was going to be sky-high by the time the show was over. And probably crash by early evening.

 

Rachel came back into the room and said, “Okay, they’re almost ready for you.”

 

“Good,” said Matt, “this has all been a lot of hurry-up-and-wait.” He abandoned Carmen momentarily to pour a cup of coffee, and then brought it over to Patrick, sitting next to him. “Hi,” he said to Cora, as he handed Patrick the coffee.

 

“Hi,” Cora smiled at him. “I’m trying to get this little one to take a step here.”

 

“He’s stubborn,” said Matt.

 

“Walking is scary,” Patrick said around a yawn. “I don’t blame him.”

 

“Drink your coffee,” Matt said, nudging it toward Patrick’s mouth. “If you fall asleep at the piano, who will banter with me?”

 

“So do you two rehearse that?” Cora asked.

 

“No,” said Matt. “Spontaneity is important.”

 

“So says Matt,” said Patrick. “We do fall into some bits as we perform, though. We do them in every city.”

 

“And then the fans realize and give us hell for them,” said Matt.

 

“Daddy,” said Hailey, coming over to them, and she was exhausted enough to be calling him _Daddy_ and to drop un-self-consciously over him onto the couch. “When are you going to perform?”

 

Patrick opened his mouth to answer, and then Rachel stuck her head in and said, “Now. Let’s go.”

 

“Now,” said Patrick, and kissed the top of her head.

 

The sun had risen, of course, and the crowd was bigger than it had seemed in the dimness of the morning. They cheered when they saw them on the stage, and Patrick tried to remember names of the anchors interviewing them, although it didn’t matter, because there had been previous negotiations that Matt would do the talking. Matt generally wanted to do the talking anyway.

 

“We’ll be live in thirty seconds,” said one of the women.

 

“I just want you to know, I’m a huge fan,” said the other woman. “It’s so great to have you here.”

 

Matt smiled easily and said thank you and then just like that they were live on television.

 

“We have here with us the band Swan,” said one of the women, shouting over the crowd’s applause at their name. “Now, you may remember Matt Usher from ‘Who Can Sing the Best?’ Am I right, ladies? We loved you on that show.”

 

“Ladies, men, people of all genders and neither gender,” said Matt smoothly, “all loved me on that show. I was pretty great on that show. Even Patrick admitted I was pretty great on that show and Patrick never tells me I’m great at anything.” The crowd was laughing, because the crowd knew well-worn grooves of Mattrick banter.

 

“You’re a rock star,” said the woman. “It probably goes to your head.”

 

Patrick nodded fervently, which made the crowd laugh again.

 

“So what made all of you decide to reunite?” asked the other woman.

 

“I was bored and I missed everyone,” said Matt. “And world-famous Anna Jin, who makes the best documentaries, was willing to stop trying to change the world through film for the course of a whole summer. Have you guys seen Anna’s films?” Matt asked the crowd. “How great are Anna’s films?”

 

Anna waved to the crowd with her drumsticks, who cheered for her film.

 

“And David and Patrick were also nice enough to indulge me throwing their lives into complete disarray, the way I normally do. I am very lucky to have very indulgent friends.”

 

“You can’t believe your luck,” said the woman who’d said she was a huge fan.

 

Matt grinned. “I can’t, it’s true.”

 

“So you’re going to be doing a summer tour?”

 

“We are. Just a quick one, but the dates have been announced and people have been very gracious about being excited and we’re going to have fun. It’s going to be fun. We’re really looking forward to it.”

 

“So are we,” said the woman. “And you’re going to play a few songs for us?”

 

“We are,” said Matt.

 

“Take it away.”

 

Patrick went to the piano and looked at his view, out over the crowd, Matt in front of him, David beyond that, and Anna off to his left. He knew this view. He had, for many, many years afterward, _dreamed_ of this view.

 

Matt had dressed very casually, in jeans and a white t-shirt, with his trademark sunglasses firmly in place. Beside him, David, who was known for wearing very shiny shoes, looked very formal. Anna, in her head-to-toe leather, made Patrick feel hot. Patrick, feeling self-conscious that he not completely match Matt, had worn jeans and a blue t-shirt. He still felt like he and Matt matched, but they were in a band together, so Patrick supposed it wasn’t as bad as when couples tried to dress identically.

 

“Hello,” Matt said brightly to the crowd. “All of you look better in the sunlight.”

 

The crowd cheered in delight.

 

And then Matt said, “David, if you please.”

 

And, just like that, they played. The song was tighter than it had been that morning. Matt didn’t lose his place and his voice was slightly stronger than it had been that morning, either because he was more awake or more warmed-up or because he’d been holding back. He was more energetic, too, bouncing a little on his toes as he sang. David’s saxophone blast to punctuate the end of the song sounded, and the crowd went wild.

 

“Thank you,” Matt said. “You’re lovely. David Jin plays an excellent saxophone, don’t you all agree?” The crowd clapped and David bowed. “Anna Jin is the best and pinkest-haired drummer in show business,” Matt continued, and Anna raised her drumsticks high for the applause. “And Patrick Reed,” said Matt, and had to stop because of the crowd’s reaction. Matt shot him a sly sideways glance. “Patrick Reed has a song he’d like to sing for you—” Matt cut himself off again, because the response was deafening.

 

Patrick shook his head a little, thrown by the reception, and made a show of adjusting his microphone.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, looking at him now.

 

“Matthew,” Patrick replied gravely.

 

The crowd went wild, because, really, any little tiny exchange between them set crowds off.

 

“Don’t play too fast, I’m very bad at playing back-up,” said Matt.

 

“New York City,” said Patrick, and squinted out toward the crowd, that roared in reaction. “Let’s show Matt how it’s done.”

 

And they did. It was also better than it had been that morning. They all seemed more relaxed and the songs just happened and they didn’t need to be pushed or prodded at all. When they finished they drifted right into _Luck_ and Matt gave Patrick a look and so Patrick cut the piano and let the crowd shout the opening “Can we talk about” line, before they let the song pick back up.

 

The “want to fuck?” line was as deafening as it always was and Patrick shook his head at it the way he always did and Matt let the song finish up, unwind into the distinctive saxophone line that played the song out.

 

Matt shouted at the crowd, “Behind me is Anna, to my left is David! He’s Patrick—” Matt swept his arm out before continuing, “and I’m Matt, and together we’re Swan, and you’ve been wonderful! We’ll see you around!”

 

One down, thought Patrick. Twenty to go.

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who, at the end of Part 1, wanted to know more about that younger version of Mattrick that didn't make it, well, that's why this part got spun out, because I realized that the tour was probably going to take a lot of words, because Anna's making a documentary, and Anna's going to be asking them questions about their past, and as the tour goes on, we're going to get to relive that first Mattrick relationship, in, hopefully, all its first-love hopefulness to messy end. Which is safe to do, since they're also older and wiser and very currently in love and committed and it'll cushion that fierce young angst. 
> 
> I just think it's going to take us a while.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kiss Me Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756369) by [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet)
  * [Make Me Lose My Head](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774423) by [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd)
  * [Swan TMZ Article](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839469) by [IAmANonnieMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse)
  * [Two Mattrick Bookmarks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840648) by [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd)
  * [Songwriting Smooch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842163) by [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd)




End file.
